Back Again From Over There
by oftheDunedain
Summary: Both Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield were extraordinary people, who lived extraordinary lives. Its just that, well they really didn't expect to get to live those lives more than once. Basically the story of the hobbit, with both Bilbo and Thorin re-living it a second time and trying to keep the rest of the company in the dark about it.
1. Chapter 1

Thorin honestly couldn't think of a better way for it all to end. He had just vanquished his oldest enemy, avenged his grandfather and sister-sons, and now was staring at the face of one of his most brave and loyal companions. The pain in his chest flared, even more thick blood spurting from the stab wound. Bilbo's face paled and his eyes widened as he frantically tried to push his dirty, worn blue jacket against the gash. His cheek had blood streaked on it too. That was wrong. Why was there always so much blood after a battle? Why was there always so much red? He weakly tried to bring his hand up to brush away the thickly clotting trail along the hobbit's hairline. Bilbo quickly grabbed it, expression of panic coming close to mania.

"No, Thorin, just stay still. The healers will be here soon. The healers are coming. They're going to save you. Just stay still. You'll be fine. They're coming. You'll survive. We're both getting out of this. Just hold on. Just hold on..." a gentle smile stole across Thorin's face as Bilbo rambled on, clutching onto his hand rather uncomfortably hard and focusing entirely on the wound. "Bilbo…" His face shot up, and Thorin could just spot lines through the grime on his cheeks that may have been caused by tears. With his blurring vision it was hard to tell. "... why are you crying?" Bilbo's expression hardened and his grip on Thorin's hand tightened even more. " You…" He adjusted the makeshift coat bandage, " Are the stupidest…" His voice choked slightly. " dwarf… that I have ever met! You are lying here, bleeding like a stuck pig, with Yavanna knows how many other injuries, and you can't understand why I'm crying?!" He leveled a glare at Thorin, as if this was all _his_ fault. Thorin frowned. That didn't make any sense. Bilbo wouldn't cry for him. How could he? But, when he saw the halfling's face crumple slightly, looking closer to grief than he had ever seen him before, he decided that didn't really matter.

"I would take back my harsh words at the gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me..." He choked slightly, just barely managing to avoid coughing up blood. It wouldn't be fair to get any more on Bilbo's already ruined blue coat. "... I was too blind to see. I am so… so very sorry that I have led you into such perils." Bilbo's eyes were blue. It was easy to see when they were so wide. Blue coat. Blue eyes. Blue was his favorite colour. He wondered if Bilbo knew. "No, Thorin, I am glad to have shared in your perils, each and every one of them. It is far more…" Bilbo paused. "It is far more than any Baggins deserves." Thorin's breath hitched. He wouldn't be long for this world, but he knew he couldn't leave just yet. He may have been battered and broken, but he was a dwarf all the same, and he would stubbornly cling to life until he had said his piece.

"Farewell, Master Burglar. Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees… and watch them grow." He smiled softly. "If more of us valued home above gold, then this world would be a merrier place." His smile broke as the struggle for breath grew increasingly more difficult, the slight mania he had seen earlier entering Bilbo's eyes again as Thorin could barely keep his own eyes open. A gasp broke through the blood sticking to the back of his throat. "But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell…" he stopped even trying to inhale. it was pointless. "... master burglar." His weighted eyelids closed just as he heard Bilbo begin to panickedly try and talk him into opening them again, small hands clutching his shoulders and droplets of something wet hitting his face. He let the halfling's voice wash over him as his soul left his body, unknown powers bearing him to the halls of his fathers.

The afterworld was murky and blurred, it's colours dulled and magnificence barely perceivable. However, as Thorin's soul was pulled farther and farther from Arda, the chamber slowly came into focus. For a moment, he wondered blearily whether there would be any gardens here. A smile crossed his now rather wispy lips. The idea of flowers and trees in between the stone pillars before him was almost comical. The smile faded as Thorin realized that it was very unlikely that there would be any sort of gardening space or soil here.

" _Idmi d'dum, nidoy."_ He didn't bother turning around. There was only one being who could sound like that. "I am no dwarfling." He could sense the other's exasperated smile without having to see it. It reverberated through the very stone. "Ah, yes. But when you have lived for as many lives of dwarrows as I have, all of you begin to appear young in my eyes." Thorin tried to muster a scowl but couldn't. He felt more comfortable here, in the presence of his maker, than he could remember feeling for a long time. "Mahal," He muttered, more out of frustration than as an address, "I'm dead, aren't I?" The exasperation in the Valar's smile turned to sadness. "Do you really need to ask?" Thorin shrugged. "You can always hope."

He looked down, inspecting himself. He was wearing the same blue silver-lined tunic and silver belt, with a black velvet overcoat whose sleeves were edged with silver threaded patterns, that he had worn during audiences and negotiations as a prince of Erebor. "So, I take it that we are in your halls currently?" Mahal placed a wide, burned and scarred hand on one of the grand pillars. "No. We are currently in a place in between Arda and the realm of Mandos." His gaze shifted from the column to Thorin. "This is where I come to observe my children and their feats." Thorin winced at the thought of Aulë witnessing his descent into madness. And the… things... that he had done while under the influence of his own birthright. He hung his head, shorn beard brushing against the soft fabric of the tunic. Towards the end, he had stopped trimming it like he did normally, but it was still extremely short. Fili's would still be longer than his. A pang shot through him at the thought of his nephews, who would be meeting him when he finally entered the afterlife. "I am sorry that I behaved so disgracefully. I know that nothing can excuse my conduct in the last days I spent on Arda."

 _There was so much gold. Mountains of it. And it was all_ his. _A sense of awed possessiveness coursed through him as he walked in between the giant hills of precious metals and stones. It felt so good to look at it, to feel that sense of power, every shift of coins re-affirming his standing as the wealthiest, most powerful dwarf in middle earth. Enough gold to have that smug elvenking on his knees, begging for those little trinkets of his. Enough gold to drown all doubt and unhappiness for the rest of his years._

Thorin finally turned round to face Mahal. "Is that why you have brought me here?"

 _Why should he ever leave this room? Why should he part with these things of beauty? They were_ his. _All of them. And oh, such beauty. The soft, dull lustre of gold, the bright shine of diamonds. It was like the flames of a forge, that beauty, warm and comforting. He could stay here forever. He could never have to think of anything else. He was king. It was his right. And he would never part with any of this. Not a single coin. Not a single spark._

The great smith's eyes never wavered. "In a way, I suppose you could say yes." He began to chip at a pillar almost absentmindedly with his fingernails. "Fate is a strange thing, Thorin Oakenshield. It's paths are many and winding, all of them uncertain and vague. But if you are careful and discerning, they may lead you to greatness." Thorin suppressed the urge to snort. Now was not the time for mirth. "I daresay that I was the exact opposite of 'careful and discerning' in my lifetime." Mahal's lips twitched upward. "You would be surprised, if you knew how exactly your actions were viewed by The Valar. Yavannah, I believe, was especially interested in your treatment of her hobbit."

" _THROW HIM FROM THE RAMPART!" The members of the company look shocked by his orders. Not that he cares. The Mahal-forsaken bastards could suffer the same fate if they did not do as he said. "DO YOU HEAR ME?!" The betrayal in their eyes was a sign of their weakness. They were probably in league with the halfling this entire time; he should have guessed that the lot of them were traitors. They were all conspiring against him. They all wanted his gold, jewels, things of beauty. Of course they did. How could they not lust after such things? He should have seen that they were no better than the men and thrice-damned elves. "THEN I WILL DO IT MYSELF!" In a single swift motion, he had the hobbit dangling over the side of the fortress. His nephews are screaming at him to stop, but he doesn't care. He can no longer hear them over the ocean of anger roaring in his ears._

" _CURSE YOU!"_

"By Durin's beard…" He turned away again. He could not bear for Mahal to see the shame on his face. "Tell her that I am sorry. The way I treated her child…" He winced, as the pain of the memory washed over him again. "It was truly unforgivable." Mahal sighed, bringing his hand down from the patterns he had been etching. "Do you truly believe that you made so many mistakes as to render your accomplishments worthless?" Thorin made another valiant attempt at scowling, but decided to settle for a simple glare instead. "One word, my maker. _The_ _Arkenstone." ..._ "That was two words." "You know what I meant! I succeeded in my task, got everything that my heart could ever desire; a home for myself and my people, the crown of Erebor, gold beyond measure, and what did I do?! I threw it all out the window with my lust for gold and obsession over a damn rock! I started a war because I was selfish and reckless,endangered the lives of my kin and subjects, and I hurt… I hurt…" Thorin's throat closed up, tears threatening to emerge as he took deep breaths to calm himself.

"If you could go back, would you?" His face shot up at the suggestion. "What are you offering?" He asked warily. Life was never this convenient. That was a lesson he had learned a long time ago. "You and Master Baggins are both… unique individuals. And I fear that a very dark shadow is passing over Arda." "What shadow? Why me?" Mahal sighed, leaning heavily on the column. "That is something that I dare not tell you. But if you return to Arda, or go on to my halls, know this; this chance will not be given again. Whatever your decision is, make it now, and let it stand." Thorin's gaze drifted to the beautiful architecture of the hallway, the numerous sturdy columns supporting a vast roof so high he could barely even see it. If he had ever been to Moria, he would have said that it bore a striking resemblance to the great halls of Khazad-dûm. The first time he had led the company on their journey through Middle Earth, the outcome had hardly been desirable. If he took this chance, then he ran the risk of damaging everything even more than he had the first time round. And if he didn't, then he would have to exist knowing that he had failed as a ruler, uncle, and friend to those that mattered most to him. Which was something that, if he decided to live again, he could change. His sister would not weep for her sons. His friends would not have cause to curse the name of Oakenshield for falling so easily to his family curse. And perhaps, he could even help to build a new life for his people. Thorin looked back to mahal. "I've made my choice." The Valar raised an eyebrow. "And what is it?" Thorin flashed an almost shark-like grin. "Do you really need to ask?"

 _Wow,_ thought Thorin, as he opened his eyes for what felt like the very first time. _I don't remember_ The Prancing Ponie's _beds ever being this comfortable before._ Then again, for the past few weeks he had been sleeping on nothing more than a threadbare bedroll over hard stone. Erebor's mattresses and cushions had rotted long ago. With a sigh, Thorin got out of bed and shrugged on his dark blue tunic, dwarven mail, leather vambraces, and heavily furred overcoat. They were not yet as worn and stained as they had grown to be on the journey to Erebor, and he took a moment to simply enjoy the feel of them. He knew that by the end of the journey the edge of his left vambrace would bear a gash from some goblin's scimitar, and the fur of his coat would be matted and stained.

"C _ome on now Thorin, it's just a change of clothes." Bilbo was standing in that ridiculous stance with one hand on each hip that made him look like a mother hen strutting across the farmyard. "I didn't like having to part with my good dinner jacket very much either, and you do have to admit that the fur on your coat is all but ruined." Thorin simply glared at him. How could this little creature possibly understand just how much they were about to accomplish? There was no way he was wearing anything made by_ men _on his very first trip back into Erebor._

 _"Besides, you can still wear your mail under it, so it's not like I'm asking you to go unprotected. Please, Thorin." Then he had given Thorin a wry smile. "At least do it for the sake of all of the poor souls who are having to treat a dwarf dressed like a mangy dog as the king under the mountain. I'm sure I've seen the master's assistant wash off his hands after patting you on the back at least a dozen times." Thorin scowled. "I do wish that man would stop doing that…" He grumbled as he slid on the new cloak. It was far to large, and he had to push up the sleeves so his hands and forearms were free. He missed his vambraces. "The back patting, or the hand washing after?" Bilbo's smile was now an ear splitting grin. "Both." with a final tug at the folds around his shoulders, Thorin belted the robe and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. "There, see. Now you have something decent to wear, and you're no less a dwarf for it."_

He gave a sigh of contentment, taking a moment to just feel the familiar weight of the fabric resting over his shoulders. Now, he was ready to begin his adventure. As he stepped into the commons, he noted that, as before, Gandalf was nowhere in sight, despite the fact that he would want to talk to Thorin. _Wizards._ He was probably hoping to make a dramatic entrance when some of the people here started shooting him a few glares. Thorin almost had to stifle a chuckle. Some things would never change. He took a seat, deciding to let Gandalf have his bit of fun. When The Maiar did sit down, with mildly smug and expectant look on his face, Thorin did his best to level a glare at him, despite how much he wanted to simply roll his eyes at his dramatics.

"Mind if I join you?" Thorin gestured to the seat opposite him. "Go ahead. Though unless I am much mistaken, you care very little as to whether I 'mind' anything you do." A bushy eyebrow flew upward. "Do you know me, then?" "I know of you. You are Gandalf The Grey, unless I am very much mistaken." Gandalf took the seat offered to him, then gave Thorin his most critical look. Thorin did his best not to squirm under the wizard's gaze. "Well, now. This is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?" "I received word that my father had been seen wandering in the wilds near Dunland. I went looking, and found no sign of him." He could still remember just how much this conversation had stung the first time round. Time had done little to wear away the wish for his father to simply walk back into his life. But he knew now that such hopes were pointless. He would be walking towards the mouth of doom in a few weeks, whether his father knew it or not.

"Thorin, it's been a long time since anything but rumour was heard of Thrain." Thorin's glare deepened to a scowl. He did not need to be having this conversation. He knew what Gandalf wanted to talk about. There was no use lingering on old wounds. When he had his mountain back, then he could find Thrain. Perhaps he would prove more resistant to the legacy of gold-sickness that seemed to claim all of Durin's line. "I know why you are here." Gandalf looked up. "Before he disappeared, my father told me that you urged him to march on Erebor and take back the Lonely Mountain. I would be very surprised if your counsel for me was not much the same." Gandalf leaned forward slightly, expression unreadable."Indeed, this is no chance meeting. The Lonely Mountain troubles me, Thorin. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn toward Erebor. I ran into some unsavory characters whilst traveling along The Greenway. They mistook me for a vagabond."

A wry smile crossed Thorin's face. "I imagine they regretted that." "One of them was carrying a message." When Gandalf pushed the dirty, worn cloth towards Thorin, he made an effort to seem interested, even though he knew exactly what it said. "It is in the black speech." Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I had noticed. Those figures are the promise of payment, correct?" It was true that Gandalf looked solemn often, but his stare still sent shivers down Thorin's spine. "Yes. for your head. Someone wants you dead. Thorin, you can wait no longer. You are the heir to the throne of Durin. Unite the armies of the dwarves. Together you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting of the seven dwarf families. Demand they stand by their oaths." Those words hurt. Almost as much as the very first time he had heard them. The seven armies of the dwarves should stand by him. They should have aided him in his quest. But, dwarves are not the kind to act without need, and there was only one thing that would unite them. The one thing that had cost him so much. That he had once thought of as the height of perfection, the symbol of his power and right to rule. What had inspired him to fly so high, and then weighted him down until he was lower than the most decrepit, common dwarrow.

"Do not speak to me of such foolishness. There is only one thing that would unite those armies, and it sits at the feet of Smaug the Firedrake." As Gandalf leaned forward to argue, he held his hand up to silence the wizard's protests. "I will ask. but if I am to truly re-take the mountain, then I will find the most stalwart of my people to accompany me. And I would ask for your assistance, if you would give it." Gandalf slowly pulled out his pipe, placing a piece of pipeweed in the bowl. "Of course. I knew that I would be willing to accompany you once I had decided to recommend this course of action. Whatever comes of this, I will stay with you for as long as I may." Thorin nodded. this was very good. "However, I still think you should not give up the might of the seven armies so lightly. You will need The Arkenstone. And for that…" A tap of the pipe, somehow already finished, onto the ashtray in the center of the table. "We are going to need a burglar."


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the difficulties of acquiring pipe-weed in Valinor, Bilbo Baggins still managed to get enough to have a pleasant smoke at the end of every day. He would face the sunset over his small garden with a smile of contentment on his old, wrinkled face, basking in well-deserved respite. A while back some of the elves had tried to find out exactly where he got the pipe-weed, (Which was reminiscent of Old Toby, not that they would know) but no-one had ever quite figured it out. Eventually, they had simply given up. He was a hobbit, after all, and was entitled to a few oddities. 'Still,' It occurred to Bilbo as he sensed a beautiful, powerful presence draw near, 'It may be in my best interests to quit. It is a bit embarrassing to be approached by Yavanna while burning plants for smoke.'

He turned to face her, the Valar's face shining with green, living beauty. "Good evening! I trust that all is well in Valmar? Or have you come to simply keep a poor old body company on this fine night?" She smiled softly, her radiance dimming slightly as she seemed to become more tangible next to him, a delicate hand resting gently on his shoulder. "Ah, Bilbo. Ever your tongue finds the words to bring fondness and joy into my heart. If you had been crafted by my husband Aulë, I am sure it would have been forged from silver." Bilbo smiled. His heart was racing from the close proximity of his maker, but that would never blunt his manners. Or wit. "I should hope not! I don't care how beautiful or well made it was, I fear a silver tongue would hinder my speech rather than encourage it."

Yavanna's laughter rang out, causing elves to stop and prick their ears, wondering at a sound of such beauty and joy. "Indeed, I am glad that it was I who had the pleasure of creating you. It makes my heart swell with pride to witness your impact on others. However," Her face grew more sober, a slight furrow appearing on her brow. The sunset suddenly seemed somewhat duller, and Bilbo's petunias drooped slightly.

"As it was I who made you, so it is I who must escort you to your place in my pastures with your kin." Bilbo's heart sank. He had hoped, what with these being the 'undying lands' and all that, that perhaps he would not have to pass on as all hobbits eventually do. Frodo and Sam would be very unhappy. "I know that you probably do not wish this, and if I am honest with myself, neither do I." She paused, giving Bilbo an unreadable look. He waited patiently for her to continue. It was no use trying to decipher the thoughts of The Valar.

"You have been given a choice, Bilbo Baggins." Bilbo's stomach flip-flopped. A choice? between what? "A choice to have your spirit leave this body and come to rest, or to travel through the veils of time and space back to a place before many decisions came to pass." Bilbo couldn't believe he was hearing this. A chance to go back? "Do you mean something like reincarnation?" He asked carefully. "Yes, a bit. You would be sent back to the time you first met Mithrandir, the day so many things in your little life changed forever."

Bilbo slowly set down his pipe, straightening his neckerchief as he searched for something to do with his slightly shaking hands. The company. The quest. His adventure. He would be lying if he said that the majority of time he spent on that journey was pleasant, but it had changed him irrevocably, and he would never give up the time he spent on it for the world. But to got through it, the old one would be lost forever to all but him. Did he want to do that? Destroy that journey he had gone on?

"You may not be the only one." His head whipped up, swift enough to crack his neck. "Another from your journey may join you. My husband believes the same as I, that our children may be able to help change the course of fate and bring a more peaceful transition between ages. So, he is inviting one of his own sons to come back to the past as well. But, that is his decision. The world at large may never see the same course of events you know, but we Valar do not forget. We will remember. We always do." Her eyes watched him. Waiting for his response. Searching for his answer. He smiled at her, slowly standing with the help of his cane. She held out her hand, gently supporting him.

Bilbo wondered how many times the course of fate had been re-worked like this before. How many dark tragedies had The Valar tried to erase? And yet, despite their best efforts, the world was still such a dangerous place. "Well now then, are you going to send me back, or must I figure out this time-travel business on my own?" A radiant smile lit up Yavanna's face, calling the sunset into clarity and the flowers into full blossom. She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss onto Bilbo's wrinkled forehead. "May your travels be swift and joyous, my brave little lion." Bilbo sat down heavily, feeling his eyelids droop and his senses dull. It was like he was falling asleep with a river rushing over him, drowning his senses as he drifted into sweet nothingness.

There was a cock crowing. Why on earth did the blasted birds need to do that every morning? If there was one thing he most certainly did not miss from The Shire, then it was being woken up early every damned morning by those Valar-forsaken birds. Wait. He was in Valinor. Chickens didn't live there.(At least, not to the best of his knowledge. The elves still found chicken meat to cook, somehow...) Wait. Yavanna. Was he dead? No. The choice. Bilbo bolted upright, eyes wide as he took in surroundings that he had not seen for over 80 years. Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

It had really happened. Quickly, he rushed to the standing mirror that had been cracked by Frodo practicing conkers indoors when he was young.

 _"No, no Frodo lad. It's all in the flick of your wrist, not the power of your swing."_

His hair, which towards the end had been white and flyaway and, if he was honest with himself, there had not been very much of, was now thick and brown, a tousled crop of curls. The hair on his feet was much thicker too, far more respectable than it had been at any point in Valinor.

Well, then. He was definitely younger, no matter where or when he was. Suddenly, a wide grin lit up his face. He was young again. Well, technically middle aged, but still _young_. With a whoop, he charged out of his bedroom in nothing more than his night shirt, doing no less than four cartwheels before shoving the front door open and breathing in the cool morning air with perfect sinuses. Then, with a ridiculous grin still plastered on his face, he raced all the way down the lane to the party tree, stopped, and raced back to Bag End. Damn, was it good to be able to run! The cane may have been useful for whacking Elladan and Elrohir whenever those devious twins got into some mischief, but he much preferred being able to walk without aid or aching, creaking joints.

With a winded groan of contentment, he crashed onto his armchair, enjoying the ability of his 50 year old body to take roughage that would have caused serious injury at age 133. He glanced upwards at his father's grandfather clock.(Which had gone missing after the auction when he was presumed dead. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Chubbs had got ahold of it, but he was never able to prove anything.) It was 7:30. And if it was the day he thought it was… He raced down the hallway to his kitchen, almost ripping the calendar of the wall in his haste to get a look at it. Oh. Well then. Another glance at the clock. He had exactly half an hour to make himself respectable enough to greet a wizard, and a grand total of ten hours to prepare rooms and cook for 14 crude, burly, hungry, muddy dwarves. Suddenly, the weight of just what was happening hit him.

He sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, eyes wide and breath hitched. He was going to see the company. He was going on the adventure again. He was going to have to re-make friendships that he had had for decades. And he was going to have to watch as his beloved smial was wrecked by the company for _the second damned time_. He took a deep, calming breath. Well, one thing was for certain. If he survived this dinner party, then he would be able to survive anything he could possibly meet out on the open road. He hurriedly pulled on a proper shirt, trousers, yellow striped suspenders, a yellow waistcoat and a blue neckerchief. He wished that he owned some less flamboyant morning wear. Sometimes it was just not worth it to be fashionable when the result was looking like a puffed up canary. After a brief inner debate he decided to simply skip first breakfast. Yup. Definitely not as respectable as he used to be.

He pulled out his pipe (The old, plain one he had used before being gifted a carved one by the company in Erebor), and went out to sit on the bench by his front gate. In later years he had moved the bench to the top of the stairs, closer to his front door and farther away from passing neighbors, but in these days he had still rather enjoyed being able to remark upon other hobbits passing by. He pulled out a pouch of pipeweed-real Old Toby, not the slightly less potent brand he had used in Valinor. Making an effort to wait as patiently as possible, he closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the smell of freshly cut grass and the warm light of the sun on his face. Well, he tried to enjoy them until a puff of smoke was rather rudely directed at his nose by a certain wayward wizard.

He gave Gandalf a slightly peeved look, the sort he would direct at a fauntling who had caused some small mischief and interrupted his gardening. Gandalf simply gave him that unreadable, slightly appraising look he had seen so many times before. Honestly. Well, there was nothing for it. Best to get pleasantries out of the way, and let Gandalf have a bit of fun as well. "Good Morning!" he said, peeved expression melting away to an open smile.

"What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?" _Wizards_."Or, perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?" Bilbo raised an eyebrow, giving Gandalf his best 'I'm not buying your bullshit, -never-say-anything-straight-out-and-be-done-with-it.' look. Over the long years of friendship with him, he had all but perfected it, and seeing Gandalf come as close to squirming as any wizard ever would was immensely satisfying.

"All of them at once. Now, what would bring Gandalf The Grey to my humble abode?" Gandalf drew back slightly, eyes narrowing to regard him more closely. "I am pleased to find that you remember my name, and that I belong to it. I suppose that you should know that I am looking for someone to share in an adventure." Bilbo drew himself up in mock shock and indignity. "What, me, Belladonna Took's son, go on an adventure? Gandalf, my dear fellow, surely you jest!"

When Gandalf actually did open his mouth to protest, Bilbo burst out laughing, choking slightly on lingering smoke from his pipe. "Oh good lord, Gandalf, haven't you ever heard of sarcasm? Yes, I am indeed interested in this 'adventure' thing you're talking about. Come inside, and I'll make you some tea so we can discuss the whole matter." Gandalf paused, keen eyes sweeping over Bilbo, lost in thought for some moments. Then, with a smile, he clapped him on the shoulder and said "Yes, Bilbo, there are many aspects of this journey that it would be good for us to have a talk about. Now then, would you happen to have any scones?" Bilbo led him smilingly up the front steps, thinking to himself that it was good to have his old confidant and partner in disrespectability back.

The talk with Gandalf took about an hour, which was impressive because in the entirety of that hour Gandalf somehow managed to tell him only one thing. There were going to be dwarves coming to his house later that evening. Wonderful. He was about to be besieged by a small army of ravenous dwarrows, and all that damned wizard had bothered telling him was, "Expect a few friends of mine who will be sharing in this venture some time this evening." Thank the Valar for his foresight, otherwise things wouldn't have turned out much better than they had last time. As it was, he knew that he had more than enough food to feed all of the company in his pantry already. But. These were his friends. Even if none of them knew him yet. And he was going to get them some of the best The Shire had to offer.

He spent some time trading with his neighbors, namely Hamfast and the Bolgers. Finally, after cooking frenziedly for the entirety of the afternoon, he was able to sit back for a moment and admire the preparations he had made. The dining table had been dragged into the hallway so that there was enough room for all of the dwarves, and the antique chairs that nobody was supposed to sit in had been dragged around it so that everybody had a place. He hadn't set the table, since he wasn't supposed to know how many of them were coming, and simply hoped nobody noticed that there were exactly fourteen chairs out.

He had also taken the liberty of placing a shoe scraper by the front door, and a mat for everybody to wipe their boots on afterwards. he knew from many visits to Bag End by his friends that it was pointless to ask them to take of their footwear, although how they managed to stay sane with their feet always stuffed into those leather contraptions escaped him. He had just finished making a congratulatory cup of tea when the doorbell rang. _'And so it begins'_ He thought.

At least this time he wasn't wearing his dressing gown. With a wide smile on his face, he opened the door to see a very tall, muscular, and bald dwarf turn round to face him."Dwalin, At yer service." Bilbo beamed up at him, the dwarf's face so familiar that it made him want to burst out laughing at his stony expression. "Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo, at yours." He gave a small bow, then gestured for Dwalin to come inside.

"Come on in now, Gandalf told me to be expecting some dwarves this evening, although I confess I'm not entirely sure how many of you there will be. Dinner is over through there-" He pointed in the direction of the kitchen, taking Dwalin's cloak graciously, "And you may lay all of your weapons and other things you don't want to have to carry all through the house on that table to your right. Oh, and do go back outside and scrape off your boots, I will _not_ have you tracking mud all through the house."

Dwalin walked out and obediently cleaned off his boots, then hefted his axes onto the table. "Your knuckle dusters as well. Those things will scratch up my table dreadfully and I don't wish to have to worry over such nuisances before going on a long journey." Dwalin glared at him. These were his knuckle dusters. He had taken them off perhaps twice over the course of as many months. He always kept them on. _Always_. "Off. _Now_." Dwalin had no idea how the hell a hobbit could suddenly look so fierce and intimidating when he was wearing his suspenders down and was a full head shorter than himself, but by Mahal this one managed it.

He meekly took off and set down his beloved knucks. "There. Much better. Now come on, have some dinner, there's plenty of it." Dwalin began to follow his host, just as he heard the doorbell ring again. "Oh! I'll get it!" Bilbo barreled past Dwalin, readying his most welcoming smile as he opened the door again. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service!" "Balin, at yours. Am I late?" Bilbo stepped aside to allow the older dwarf access into his home.

"Why no, they've only just begun to arrive. I believe your comrade is currently in the process of raiding my cookie jar." Sure enough, Dwalin was trying fruitlessly to fit his meaty fist into a glass jar of biscuits. "Oh ho! Evening, brother!" Dwalin looked up from his attempts, a wide grin spreading across his face as he set the jar down and approached his kin. "By my beard," He leaned forward in mock scrutiny, "you are shorter and wider than last we met." Balin smiled exasperatedly. "Wider, not shorter. And sharp enough for both of us." Dwalin laughed, booming voice echoing through the smial. Then, both of them grinning widely, they clasped each other's shoulders and slammed their foreheads together.

Bilbo winced slightly. He never had quite gotten used to that particular dwarvish tradition. It just looked so much like it _hurt_. Well, whatever made them happy. Dwalin placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Have ye eaten?" Bilbo could have smacked himself. He should have asked that! "The kitchen is right through that doorway there, if you're hungry." Both of the dwarves looked up, and Balin gave him a warm smile. "Thank you, laddie, we'll just make ourselves at home." They approached the kitchen, but when they saw what was in it they stopped dead. "Is everything alright? I was only told you would be coming in the late morning, so I didn't have time to cook a few of the things I would have liked, and of course getting boar meat in The Shire was out of the question, so I had to find a substitute for the Khêndun…"

It had taken nearly 7 hours of cooking and baking to put a reunion's worth of dwarvish and hobbitish dishes on the table, but by Yavanna it was worth it to see the expression on his friends faces. "You… how…" "My mother, Belladonna Took, used to go on adventures herself. She brought a few dwarrows to visit once or twice, so I know what sort of foods they like, and what large appetites they have." Well, not very large when compared to a hobbit's, but they could still shovel down a decent amount of food when they really wanted to. Dwalin turned to face him, mouth hanging open and eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"But…" "No buts! I didn't buy out every spice grower in The Shire just to have you all gawk at the food I prepared. Go ahead and have at it! I daresay that there is enough for all of you." Dwalin's mouth snapped shut, and he all but shoved his brother to the side as he rushed into the kitchen, quickly filling up his bowl with some of the heavily seasoned beef stew. Balin, however, lingered in the hallway.

"You certainly put forth a lot of effort in making all this, ." Bilbo shrugged. "You are my guests. And I believe in treating guests with respect and courtesy. I know a thing or two of the dwarves of Erebor, and you are all welcome in my house." Balin gave him a grim smile. "Usually, when people think that they know a thing or two of the dwarves of Erebor, they are inclined to say the exact opposite. I thank you kindly, ." Bilbo waved his hand, as if shooing away the compliment. "Now then, I'll have none of that. You just go on with your brother and make yourself at home. There is no need for you to thank me." A wry grin crossed his face. "So long as you don't break anything."

Balin gave him one last look, then moved on to the kitchen, scolding his brother for trying to take all of the Gurbok. Bilbo sighed, leaning against the wall and pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't know if he would be able to talk to all of his old friends like he had to Balin and Dwalin. It had been a very long time since he had seen some of them, and the idea of facing Fili and Kili…

 _He hadn't seen Kili's corpse before the funeral. He thought that it would be easier, that maybe when the blood was washed away and the body placed in finery, the sight of the young prince dead would be easier to bear. It wasn't. Not at all._

There was a knock on the door.

This time, Bilbo approached the door more slowly, taking a deep breath before opening it, smiling from ear to ear. "Fili-" "and Kili-" "At your service!" "You must be Mr. Boggins!" It was a very good thing that Bilbo's training in manners and scolding young hobbits both surfaced, otherwise he might have had a slight mental breakdown right then and there. "Bilbo Baggins at yours. Baggins. If you try and pretend you don't know what my name really is throughout the rest of this night, Then I will be forced to hit you repeatedly in the head with my frying pan, and I don't wish to dent it, so just do us both a favour and remember."

He stepped back, ushering the brothers into the hallway. "Weapons over there, food is right through there, and for the love of The Valar, _please scrape your boots_." Kili made a move towards his mother's glory box. "On the bootscraper outside!" "Aaah, so that's was what it was!" Fili and Kili both deposited their weapons (Although Fili retained about half of the dozen or so knives he kept on his person, but Bilbo wasn't going to make a fuss over that.), and then proceeded to go back out the door and take care of their boots.

Once they were out of sight, Bilbo slumped slightly and blew out a breath of air. 'Well,' He thought, 'I didn't need those ten years they scared off my life anyway.' However, he found that after first seeing them, being with them wasn't really as hard as he had thought it would be. they were just so alive, that it was hard to connect them to the cold, lifeless corpses he had said goodbye to in Erebor. As Kili and Fili made their way back inside, Kili stopped to examine the curve of the hallway.

"It's nice, this place. Did you do it yourself?" Bilbo shook his head. "No, my father made it for my mother when they were first wed, and then it was passed on to me." "Oh!" Fili poked his head through the doorway, frowning at his brother and motioning for him to come on. "But then where do they live?" With a small groan, the elder Durin brother smacked his head in frustration.

"I'm afraid that both of my parents passed on during the fell winter of 2911. The Brandywine river froze over, and a wolf pack crossed it, and, well…" He gave Kili a somewhat sad smile and shrugged. "My mother never was one to pass up on excitement. And my father would protect her no matter where she went." Kili's eye's went wide. "Er… oh… I-I'm so sorry…" Bilbo rolled his eyes, giving a more genuine smile and patting him on the shoulder.

"Oh, don't be. It happened a very long time ago, and I have made my peace with it. Besides, I doubt that my mother would be very happy if she knew that I spent the rest of my life mourning her. Now go on, I believe that if you ignore your brother any longer he is going to create a hurricane with all of that arm flapping of his." Fili was indeed now gesturing frantically for Kili to come on, and signing rapidly in Iglishmêk, ' ** _Leave It alone! Leave it alone!_** ' Kili's face turned a deep shade of red, and he excused himself with a mumble that may or may not have been,' _Goddamn bastard coulda warned me sooner.'_

Bilbo simply sighed and shook his head in exasperation, as the princes went into the next room and met with Balin and Dwalin. A self- satisfied smirk rose up as he heard the exclamations of joy upon their discovery of the food. Then, a long, hard ring on the doorbell. Well. that could only mean one thing. Bilbo positioned himself carefully, so that he could jump out of the way as soon as possible after opening the door. Then, he pulled it open.

A huge mass of hair and muscle crashed onto his floormat, grunts and moans heralding the arrival of no less than eight dwarves. 'No matter how many times you see it,' Thought Bilbo as he looked on, trying valiantly smother his laughter, 'It never becomes any less of a spectacle.' "Oh dear, are you alright? Yes? Good, well then weapons go over here, food is over there, and my name is Bilbo Baggins, at your service." The dwarves all stopped swearing at each other in Khuzdul for a moment to introduce themselves and politely place their implements of destruction on the indicated table. Of course, once they saw the almost-dwarvish food on the table, they forgot all about their mishap at the door.

"Master Baggins, did you do all of this yourself ?" Bilbo turned round to face Bombur, who was eyeing the food on the table with an expression of keen interest. "Why yes. I would have done a few more dishes, but I'm afraid I had a rather limited time to prepare. Gandalf only told me that you would be coming around nine." Bombur's eyes widened. "You've been working on all of this since then?! It's 6:30!" Bilbo raised an eyebrow. It wasn't that much effort for some good friends of his, and seeing them happy was well worth his hard work.

"Well, actually, I finished around 5:50. And besides, it isn't that much, for a hobbit at least. I actually probably would have had enough to feed all of you with the things that were in my pantry already, but I wanted to make an effort to help you all feel welcome. And I've hosted far larger parties than this one before. Honestly, it's no trouble, really." Bombur's expression of curiosity was now far closer to awe, and he was staring at Bilbo as if he had just told him that the secret to immortality was eating chocolate cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

"Oh, come now, don't look at me like that. Go on and enjoy yourself. If you don't hurry up, I daresay there isn't going to be much left for you to enjoy, and then my efforts would have been wasted because one of you still managed to go hungry despite my preparations." Bombur's eyes immediately snapped back to the feast, and he raced forward to the table, trying to sample as much of every dish as he possibly could. Bilbo smiled. If there was one thing that Bombur could really enjoy, then it was good food. He would have made an excellent hobbit.

"Well, Bilbo, you seem to be getting along with the rest of the company quite amicably." Bilbo turned around to see Gandalf peering down at him. "Yes, well, they're quite a merry gathering." A hunk of blue cheese sailed through the air and smashed against the wall, inches away from where he and Gandalf were standing. "Once you get used to them." He leaned back, watching as Ori was forcefully trying to get Gloin to stop using one of Bilbo's story books as a coaster, while his brother Nori was trying to slip as much silverware and as many knick knacks into his pockets as was physically possible, and Bofur accidentally sloshed some ale onto his best Westfarthing croche. It really was good to see them all again.

"Well, my dear fellow, I certainly am glad to hear that you're getting along well with them. Soon enough I'm sure that you'll hear a description of exactly what sort of venture we are all making, but first there is one more dwarf who seems to be missing…" Thorin. Oh, dear seeing Thorin was going to be hard. But he was a Baggins, as well as a Took, and neither ever shied away from a challenge. Unless it was a reckless, adventurous challenge, in which case the Baggins side would simply quaver in fear and try desperately to hide behind the nearest cup of tea. He smiled. It was a good thing that his mother's blood ran strong in him. He was managing fine with Fili and Kili, and he would relish the chance to stand by Thorin's side once again.

Suddenly, a jolt ran through him. Fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. Yavanna had said that another person may be coming back. One of Aulë's children. And so far all of the other members of the company he had seen had shown no sign of having any memories of him, so… damn. Well, then he would have to think something up. He honestly didn't know how Thorin would react to seeing him again, but it probably wouldn't be good. 'Well,' He thought to himself, 'Let it not be said that Bilbo Baggins cannot deal with mind-numbingly huge amounts of stress in the face of utter chaos.' He snorted. That hadn't always been true. He could still remember the lump on his head he had woken up with after reading a certain contract containing rather interesting terms of service clauses. Still, he was not the same hobbit he had been back then. He would figure this out. A wry grin crossed his face. He always did.


	3. Chapter 3

Thorin couldn't find the damned hobbit hole. Again.

He just didn't understand how it was _possible_ for a place to be so hard to navigate. He already knew exactly where Bag End was! And yet he couldn't remember for the life of him whether he was supposed to turn left or right here. He made a vain effort to follow the squiggling lines on his road map, but with no better luck than the first time around. He shoved it into his pocket and surveyed the rolling hills and pockets of farmland. It only took a few moments for him to spot the oak tree atop of Bilbo's home.

He stepped off the road, making as straight a course towards it as possible. Five barking dogs, Three accidentally smashed garden ornaments, and no less than half a dozen trod-upon flower beds later, a rather muddy and very frustrated Thorin Oakenshield managed to arrive in front of a familiar green door. He paused, bracing himself. Valar, this was not going to be easy. He honestly had no idea what was going to happen when he walked through that door. Even though he could tell exactly what jokes Bofur was going to make and knew just how many seed cakes Dwalin would scarf down, it felt as though he was at the brink of a cliff.

With a groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath. The smell of The Shire pervaded his senses. It was a perpetual scent of loam and a multitude of flowers, with just a touch of woodsmoke. He could hear the sounds of his company making merry inside of the smial, Gloin laughing uproariously at something, Dwalin slamming his fists on the table while Oin spluttered and the rest of the company descended into snickers, Bombur complaining loudly that he was trying to concentrate on his cheese block. A tired smile crossed his face. One thing that would never change, no matter how many times he lived, would be dwarves penchant for parties.

He felt a bit sorry for Bilbo, though. If there had been any way for him to warn the hobbit, then he would've, but seeing as how it was a good distance from the council to Hobbiton, there was nothing he could really do. There would be chances to make it up to him later. He started up the steps to the front door, still listening in as his friends talked and laughed. Then, something stopped him in his tracks. A bootscraper was by the front door, absolutely covered in mud, that had most definitely not been there the last time. Something was different about this. That was odd. What had he done? There was no way he could have affected anything here. Unless maybe he had inspired one of his company's members to pay more attention to their footwear. No, no, he didn't think Kili even knew what a bootscraper _was_. So why had something changed?

Thorin took another deep breath. Maybe he was overreacting. Small things were bound to be different. It probably didn't mean anything. He knocked on the door. Immediately, silence fell inside of Bag End. He could just hear Gandalf say, "He is here." Honestly. Gandalf was spending too much time with his nephew Fili; he was starting to pick up that boy's habit of stating the blindingly obvious. "I'll get it!" He heard another voice say. A rather hobbitish voice. He only had a second to brace himself before Bilbo Baggins opened the front door. Thorin froze. He had been prepared for being looked at with annoyance. With suspicion. With anger, even. But he could never have guessed that when he saw Bilbo again, he would see _recognition_ in his eyes.

Bilbo looked straight at him, expression unreadable, then pulled an acorn out of his pocket. Bilbo knew. Oh, Mahal, Bilbo _knew_! How on earth could he face him?! What must he think if him?! Suddenly, an even more soul-crushing thought popped into his head. If Bilbo was here… then he must have died. Oh, Durin's beard and balls, Bilbo had died! How did it happen?! Had somebody killed him?! Fuck, Bilbo had been killed and he hadn't been there! He should have protected him! He should have _survived_! He was frozen, shell shocked. It was all that he could do to keep himself from collapsing in a heap on the welcome mat.

He didn't care what the rest of the company thought when they found him here. He couldn't move. He couldn't- "Food is over there, weapons are over here, and for the love of Yavanna _please scrape your boots_! Honestly, you would think that dwarves had never heard of neatness." Thorin could only gape, watching Bilbo bob on the mat and proceed to take his cloak with a huff. "Come now, there's no need to stare. I know that I don't look like very much of a burglar, but I assure you that I have a tendency to defy expectations."

Then he all but shoved Thorin inside the smial, chattering away with reprimands and instructions on how to avoid destroying his (Apparently very old and valuable) home. With a shake, Thorin managed to walk forward and put down his sword. He noticed that the other dwarves were looking at him through the doorway to the kitchen. Oh, for the love of The Valar, he was supposed to be more broody and suspicious than this, wasn't he? Whoops. "I take it that you are the leader of this fine crew? Very good. As I said, unless these gluttons have managed to eat it all, food is right over there. Fili, please get your boot off that plate, it's over 200 years old, thank you very much!"

Thorin did his best to muster a glare at Bilbo. He would have to thank him later for covering his silence and long stare. If there was anything that hobbit could do, it was talk his way out of trouble. He looked into the kitchen, although his appetite had been quite taken away. Sure enough, Fili was standing on top of the dinner table with several flagons of ale, over the remains of what at one point was probably a considerable amount of food. "Uncle!" "We met a hobbit!" "He can cook really, really well!" For some reason, Kili was looking over Thorin's shoulder at Bilbo with a pleading expression. Bilbo rolled his eyes. "I already told you, all is forgiven." Thorin looked back to his nephews in bewilderment. "What?"

"Oh, it's nothing." "Yeah, just a stupid thing that kee sai-" Kili gave his very best battle cry and tackled Fili, knocking him from the table. The rest of the company started cheering and urging them on, stomping their boots on the floor and laughing. "Well. They seem to be getting along rather well this evening." Thorin looked back at Bilbo, and once again his breath caught in his throat. The hobbit was far better at acting then he would ever be. He knew that the only reason he was still here was the rest of the company. Once everybody else was asleep, he would get the tirade of his life.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at his shell-shocked expression. **_Scowl_** He signed in Iglishmêk. What? Oh. Right. Luckily, what with Fili and Kili's fighting and Bilbo's chattering, nobody had seemed to notice that he was acting slightly off. He quickly plastered a disgruntled expression on his face, sliding into a chair at the head of the table. Once his nephews had finally managed to solve their argument (Fili bruised Kili's nose, and Kili had a death grip on one of Fili's mustache braids before they finally decided to call a truce.), Dwalin and the rest of the company took a seat and looked at him expectantly. Balin cleared his throat.

"Well, laddie? What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?" Thorin gave him a hard look. "Yes. Envoys from all seven kingdoms." There were whoops and cheers from around the table, but he held up his hand to silence them. This was going to be hard to say. "They will give us no aid. They say this quest is ours, and ours alone." Dead silence fell upon the table. They were alone. It hurt, knowing that the dwarves were a people apart, never fully accepted by others. But being deserted by kin was a different matter. That stung like the flames of dragon fire.

"Well, then, let's have a little light, shall we?" Bilbo placed a candle on the table. "It matters not whether our kin are with us, or we face the worm ourselves. Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time." Gloin looked over to his brother expectantly. Oin cleared his throat. "Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end." "Smaug…" Bilbo whispered. Bofur's head popped up. "Oh, aye. Smaug the terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals-" "Yes, thank you Bofur, I had _no idea_ who he was. I just assumed that Erebor had extremely unclean air."

Kili snorted, and Ori jumped out of his seat. "I'm not afraid! I'm up for it! I'll give him a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!" Dori pulled him down, scowling, and Thorin winced internally. Ori was probably going to get an earful the moment those two had a minute alone. Balin stepped up. "The task would be difficult with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."

Immediately shouts of outrage erupted from the company, ranging from "Watch it!" too Khuzdul language that made Thorin pray Bilbo's apparent knowledge of Iglishmêk did not extend to their oral language. "I daresay that if thirteen of the most loyal and willing of Durin's folk, a burglar, and one of the Maiar cannot achieve this task, then nobody can." All of the dwarves looked up at Bilbo, who instead of sitting was leaning against the doorframe, much as he had the first time, albeit with a far more relaxed posture.

"Thats right!" Fili jumped up. "We may be few in number, but we're fighters, down to the last dwarf!" Then he paused. "And hobbit. Sorry." Kili joined in as well. "And as master Baggins said, we have a wizard in our company! Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time." Gandalf immediately choked on his pipe smoke. "Oh, well, now, I-I wouldn't say that…" Dori gave him a piercing look.

"How many, then?" "Um, what?" Gandalf was looking more uncomfortable by the minute. "Well, how many dragons have you killed?" Gandalf puffed on his pipe some more and tried to appear as wizardly and mysterious as possible. It didn't work very well. "Go on, give us a number!" The other dwarves joined in, all of them shouting and guessing how many dragons Gandalf had killed. Thorin sighed and rubbed his forehead. There really was only one way to get these dwarrows under control. "SHAZARA!"

He immediately commanded the attention of everyone in the room. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have too?! Rumours have already begun to spread, and Smaug has not been seen for nigh on 60 years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Our halls and heritage may now lie unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim the one place we can truly call our home? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?! Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!"

The dwarves cheered, and Bilbo was looking at him with something oddly akin to pride. Thorin's stomach dropped to his booted feet. Bilbo was very good at acting, indeed. It physically _hurt_ him to see the hobbit's eyes so full of trust and loyalty after all that he had done. But soon the evening would be over, and the others would go to bed. That was when what Bilbo really felt towards him would be shown. The thought terrified him more than Smaug himself.

Balin, in the face of the other's cheer, never lost his practicality. "You forget: the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain." Gandalf, who had been trying his hardest to hide behind his pipe smoke, popped back into the conversation. "That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true." A key appeared between his twirling fingers, and he held it out to Thorin. Thorin, in turn, tried to look suspicious of the key and deeply interested in it at the same time. "How came you by this?" He asked. Gandalf drew himself up slightly. "I was given it by your father, Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now."

Fili's face lit up."If there is a key, then there must be a door!" Thorin just barely managed to not smack himself in the forehead, and Bilbo coughed loudly. Gandalf, on the other hand, was unfazed by Fili's absolutely ingenious deductive skills. "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls." "There's another way in!" Oh great. Now Kili was playing detective. He would really have to have a talk with those boys. Gandalf shrugged. "Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori turned to face Bilbo, eyes wide and expectant. "Hm, yes, a very good one too. An expert, I imagine." A grin lit up his face. "It's a lucky thing you came to me, then! I confess that I don't have a great deal of experience with dragons, but I do know a thing or two about stealth and cunning." Dwalin looked Bilbo up and down suspiciously. "Aye, but we're going on a quest, Master Baggins. The wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves." Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think that I can't fight? Or fend for myself? Believe it or not, there is a reason that Gandalf brought you to my door. If you do not wish for my company on this quest, then say it and be done with it. But do not doubt my skills; I've had a good deal of years to hone them and I am rather proud of it."

He gave Dwalin a piercing glare, and to Thorin's surprise and Balin's everlasting delight, Dwalin actually _squirmed_ a little under the hobbit's gaze. "Yes," Gandalf jumped in, "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unnoticed by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen . There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Alright, Gandalf, don't oversell me, at this point they'll be expecting me to be able to talk my way out of a troll fight." The company laughed, and then Balin gave him a nudge. " contract." Thorin set his mouth in a grim line, and took the contract roughly from Balin. "Very well, Gandalf, we will do this your way." He gave Bilbo his very best glare as he handed over the contract. He couldn't wait for the hobbit to have been with them long enough for him to act like he trusted him.

"Well, now, don't go leaping into the air with joy. Let's see, everything looks fairly reasonable…" Bilbo looked at the parchment intently. "Yes, everything is in order. I'll just sign here, then." Gandalf probably couldn't have looked have looked more shocked if Bilbo had told him about being re-incarnated and sent back in time. He looked up, raising an eyebrow at everyone's surprised expressions. "I told you that I have some skills, and I intend to employ them in order to help you get your home back. Bag End will survive for some months without me here." He handed the contract back to Balin, who was the only person not gawking.

"Now then, would the lot of you mind helping me clean this mess up? And careful with the knives, I don't want them blunted!" The company immediately shook off the shock of seeing a rather small, bunny-like creature sign onto a quest to slay a dragon, breaking into song as they tossed the tableware back and forth. "Blunt the knives, bend the forks, smash the bottles and burn the corks!" Thorin leaned back, watching their acrobatics. But also watching bilbo. The hobbit was surveying the dwarves dish cleaning, occasionally cautioning or reprimanding them for trying to put too much soap on a painted dish or scrubbing things with his mother's doilies.

The evening couldn't come soon enough. Balin, after passing off his job of plate-propeller to Dori, sidled over to him. "Well, Thorin, it would appear we have found ourselves a burglar." "Indeed." He followed Balin's gaze back to Bilbo, who was now pulling several silver spoons and knives out of Nori's jacket. Balin shook his head. "Well, another one, anyway. Do you know why Gandalf chose him?"

 _Thorin's head is pounding. It feels as if his skull has been cracked open. His limbs are like lead. It is all that he can do to turn his head to face his oncoming adversary. This is the end, and there is nothing he can do about it. That thought hurts even more that his wounds. As the monster approaches, he thinks over everything he has done. He wishes he could have lived to see erebor re-claimed. to reap some reward for all of the hard work he has endured. but that isn't how life works. Happy endings don't always exist. Sometimes you die, and your death means nothing. Then, suddenly, a slight figure slams into the approaching orc. There is a small head of tousled brown-golden curls standing between him and certain death. He never thought he would be so happy to see the halfling._

"No idea. He certainly doesn't seem like the questing type. I can only hope that he doesn't slow us down." Balin looked up to him. "Still, perhaps he isn't so different from the rest of this company. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers; hardly the stuff of legend. He'll fit right in." Thorin's heart soared. It seemed like the company was already warming up to Bilbo. That was good. It would make the journey a great deal easier on him. For now, though, he would have to at least pretend to regard the hobbit with suspicion.

So, he scowled deeply, glaring at Bilbo's back. "I would take every one of these _dwarves_ over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they came. . A willing heart. I can ask no more than that." Balin placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do this. You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor." Thorin looked to his friend and advisor.

"Listen to me, Balin. I am doing all of this for one reason. It is not for my honour. Or for the memory of my forefathers. Or even for gold. It is for our people. Erebor is their _home_. the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain need their halls back more than anything else. If we do not have a place in this world, then what are we? There is no choice, Balin. Not for me. Not for our kin." Balin gave him a long,hard look. Then, a smile crossed his face. "Well, then we are with you, laddie. We will see it done."

Suddenly, Bilbo popped out from behind a teetering row of plates. "Right, now then, if you all would like then I have stoked the fire in the living room, and there is more than enough room for all of you to smoke or talk or break things or whatever it is you dwarves do to relax. I'm rather afraid that I don't have enough beds for all of you, but I set out some blankets and pillows, so you can all just pick a spot to bed down on." The dwarves compliantly stepped into the living room while Bilbo gave the kitchen one last once-over.

"'Least it doesn't look like a horde of elephuants just came through." He muttered, just barely loud enough for Thorin to hear. Then, he turned round and walked into the living room to supervise the distribution of bedding. Thorin leaned against the mantelpiece, surveying the rest of the company. The mood now was decidedly more sober than when he had first walked in. Then, one of them, (He couldn't be sure who) started humming a familiar tune. He lifted his eyes to the window, watching the moon as it rose.

 _"Far over the misty mountains cold_

 _To dungeons deep and caverns old_

 _We must away ere break of day_

 _To find our long-forgotten gold_

 _The pines were roaring on the height_

 _The winds were moaning in the night_

 _The fire was red, it flaming spread_

 _The trees like torches blazed with light"_

For a moment, past and present blurred. He was once again proud and haughty, a son of Durin about to set out on an impossible quest.

 _The bells were ringing in the dale_

 _And men looked up with faces pale_

 _then dragon's ire, more fierce than fire,_

 _laid low their towers and houses frail._

 _Thorin was standing above the glen. He could see for miles all around the front entrance of Erebor. He could see the entirety of the elvish host before him. And the exhausted, hungry faces of the men stooping in the ruins of Dale. But he feared not. He was king. what had he to fear? He felt only_ anger.

 _The mountain smoked beneath the moon;_

 _the dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom_

 _they fled their hall to dying fall_

 _beneath his feet, beneath the moon._

 _The Battle Of The Five Armies was not very aptly named. It was no battle. It was a_ massacre, _with every side sustaining outrageous casualties. And all that he could think, as he stood there over it all, as he was carried haphazardly to the healing tent, was that it was_ his fault.

 _Far over the misty mountains grim_

 _to dungeons deep and caverns dim_

 _We must away, ere break of day,_

 _to win our gold and harps from him!_

 _It was a miracle, really, that his harp had survived for so long in the dust and decay of Erebor. He plucked a few notes, listening as the melody rang out through the halls, and two pointed ears pricked and listened…_

He stopped singing. All of the other's eyes were glazed with remembrance of pain long ago, but he knew that none of their scars compared to his. And he was about to live through it all again. The full weight of just what was ahead of them hit him. Could he really change everything? What if some things were not meant to be changed? what if he made new blunders, worse missteps? How could he possibly know what he was doing was the right thing? How could he know he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life?

A wave of despair washed over him as he saw the faraway looks in his company's eyes. He couldn't fail them. Not again. Then, his eyes fell on the hobbit. He too was seeing things in his mind's eye, but his face was not full of pain and despair. It was full of wonder, as if the song was an elvish ballad of great deeds and mighty heroes and not the tale of a powerful people brought low. That face stirred something in Thorin. If Bilbo could still see light and hope in this insane venture, then so could he. Slowly, the other dwarves began to make their way to various piles of quilts and pillows.

Thorin took his pipe and stepped outside. He knew what was coming, and it would probably be best if they were both alone when Bilbo confronted him. He sat down on the front stair, looking out over The Shire. It really was a beautiful place. Why had Bilbo decided to leave it, that first time? He could have had a life filled with nothing but gardening and tea and the scent of pipe-weed. Come to think of it, why had he signed onto the quest now, when he had a second chance to live that life?

The door opened. Thorin knew it was Bilbo because he couldn't hear any footsteps. Gandalf hadn't been lying when he said that hobbits were stealthy. He slowly stood.

"I know why you are here. I have no right to say this, but for what it is worth, I am sorry that I brought you such pain, And I regret the things left unsaid at our parting. I know my words were inadequate, but… they were all I could bring myself to say." A small hand settled itself on his shoulder. "You idiot, that was supposed to be my line." Thorin looked up, and, miracle of miracles, Bilbo was actually _smiling_ at him. Even as tears ran down his small face. He barely even had time to be surprised before the hobbit's arms encircled him and Bilbo hugged him as hard as he could.

"Don't you ever, ever die again, you hear me? If you do, then I shall have to come barging into The Halls of Mahal to get you back, and I don't think the other dwarves there would approve of that, now would they?" Thorin realized that tears were running down his own face as he returned the embrace. "You… you came back... does that mean.." Bilbo looked up. "Yes?" "... Did you die?" Mahal, those words stung. But he needed an answer. He could not live with himself if Bilbo had been killed by battle wounds, or his own kin for stealing the arkenstone.

"Oh, yes, of course I did. But don't you worry, It was at the ripe old age of 133, so I can hardly complain." Thorin's breath caught. " 133… but.. What happened?! how did you come to pass on so young?! Was it after the battle? Oh, Mahal, was it my kin? Did Dain have you sentenced?!" He hugged Bilbo harder, clinging to him as if he would disappear if he ever let go. "What? No! Thorin, the average lifespan of a hobbit is 100 years. I actually broke the Old Took's record; he only lived to 130." Thorin looked down at Bilbo in shock. The average lifespan of a hobbit was 100 years? At that point dwarves were only barely coming of age! "Bilbo… how old are you now?" He looked up at Thorin with a slightly miffed expression.

"Well, as I told you, I am 133, but I suppose now my body would be about 50 years old." Thorin's jaw dropped. He had dragged a _50 year old_ on a _quest_! Gloin's boy Gimli was older that that! "Oh, come on now, don't give me that look. Hobbits come of age at 33, so I'm middle aged by our standards. And besides, you've seen me doing dangerous things before; you know I'm not some youngster." Thorin took a deep breath. Bilbo was right. Hobbit standards were very different from dwarven ones. But it still hurt to think that he had gone through all of those… things on the quest at what dwarves considered to be very a tender age.

"Besides, if you wait for me to come of age by dwarven standards, than I daresay I'll be too decrepit to be of much help to anybody." A wry smile was now playing on his face. Well, at least the horrors of the past had not taken away his sense of humour. Thorin released him from the embrace, slowly leaning back again on the step. "So, then… what happened? Where did you go? what did you do?" Bilbo's face fell. "Well, I went home, of course. Back here, to The Shire."

Obviously. It would be foolish to assume that he was welcome in Erebor, despite Thorin's parting words. "As for what I did… I suppose you should hear the whole tale. Go ahead and light your pipe; we shall be here for a while." And so the night passed, with Thorin hanging on Bilbo's every word as he told a tale of piecing together an old life, of his nephew and the ring of power, and as Thorin listened, all the way to the end when Bilbo left for the undying lands, (Goddamn elves, he knew they had always wanted to smuggle away the hobbit…) he swore to himself that this time around, things would be different. Both for him and Bilbo, and the rest of the company as well.

This time, he would be a better leader. This time, he would be there for Bilbo as he struggled to live with the influence of The Ring. This time, the company would all have places of authority in the new Erebor that he would build, because he knew that they were all the most trustworthy and hardworking dwarves he had ever known. This time, it wouldn't be the bloody elves who the men called for aid from. This time, he would do whatever it took to change things, go up against any one or anything. Even himself.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to those who have commented! This is my first fic, so constructive criticism is always appreciated. These chapters have been edited and re-posted, but everything in them is the same as before.


	4. Chapter 4

_Bilbo couldn't get back to sleep. Something was wrong. It was as if a layer of his skin had been peeled away, and now everything felt different. All he knew was that something was missing. Something he_ needed. _He slowly opened his eyes. A candle was smoking on the mantlepiece. They had left while he was asleep._

"Oi, get up, Master Baggins!"

Bilbo shot up. "What?" He gasped, only half realizing which life he was in. "Shhh! Everyone else is still asleep. Bombur asked me to wake you. Says he wants some help in the kitchen making some'at fer breakfast." Bofur had obviously just woken up; he was looking at Bilbo blearily and his clothes were crumpled, as if he had slept in them. "Right then, thank you, Bofur. I'll go and help him at once."

Bilbo gingerly stepped between the 'Ri brothers, who had decided that Bilbo's room was the perfect place to rest. As he walked out into the hallway, he made a quick mental overview of the rest of the company. They were all snoring peacefully, without the first rays of dawn to disturb them. They looked almost peaceful like this, sprawled over every article of furniture and inch of clear floor space. He made an effort to be a quiet as possible.

Bombur jumped when Bilbo poked his head through the doorframe. "Sorry, did I surprise you? Trying not to wake the others, you know. Now then, let's see, I was prudent enough to place some things for breakfast in that cupboard over there, here's the key, and why don't we get the stove-top running, yes?" He bustled through the kitchen, pulling out his cooking utensils and instructing Bombur, who compliantly did whatever was asked of him.

In about an hour they managed to put apple tarts, muffins, eggs, sausage, toast, and some bacon on the table. Bombur was somewhat impressed by Bilbo's ability to not only cook well, but also quickly, so he was kind enough to teach him some hobbit tricks and methods that had been passed down to him. Not all of them, though. He was entitled to some secrets.

Bofur gave a low whistle as he surveyed the meal that Bilbo and Bombur had cooked. "That, brother, is how a meal is made." Bilbo smiled. "Really, don't give me all of the credit. Your kin helped considerably, and I daresay that he is quite the cook himself." Bombur blushed a deep red. Everyone knew of his prowess in the kitchen, but it was still rather rare for him to actually be complemented.

Bilbo pulled off the last of the sausage, and set some eggs aside for Gandalf."Now, lets see how many of these lumps we can kick awake, shall we?" Bofur laughed. "I like your way of thinking, Master Baggins." Bilbo pulled up his suspenders, preparing himself for a repeat of last night's dwarf armageddon.

"Right then, let's get to it!" Bilbo pulled open his living room door, whacking Kili on the head with it's corner. An indignant, "Hey!" broke out of his rat's nest of hair. "Get up; breakfast is ready." Fili lifted his head and let out a stifled groan. "Whaaaa?" "I said, breakfast is on the table. There is currently only one pot of coffee in the kitchen, and two of the others are awake already, so by my calculations if you want any caffeine this morning you have about three minutes to get up and claim your share."

The Durin brothers immediately bolted out of their blankets, tearing down the hall to the kitchen. Bilbo shook his head. Well, whatever motivated them. He stepped into the adjourning guest bedroom, where Thorin had taken his only other spare bed. "Your nephews are up. I should probably shorten my earlier estimate from three minutes to about sixty-five seconds."

Thorin was already awake, and leaning against the wall, brooding. Of course. He had been starting to fear for Thorin's sanity; he had never seen the dwarf without a true scowl on his face for so long. He looked up, starting slightly at Bilbo's appearance. "Come on, Thorin Broodyshield, breakfast is getting cold." Thorin sighed, but where at one point there probably would have been annoyance or disdain, there was only a sort of weary fondness.

"Well fine then, stay in here and worry until your eyebrows fuse together. But I am eating your share." Thorin chuckled. "Are you packed? It would probably be best for you to avoid the handkerchief fiasco that occurred last time." Bilbo huffed. "Thorin, after being alive for one hundred and thirty three years, one learns to live without pocket handkerchiefs. Although I do wish I had something to wear that is more suited to this sort of thing than my good dinner jacket; it was quite ruined last time."

Thorin snorted, and a smile flicked across his features. It was a small, quick thing, but it still appeared. Bilbo remembered how, as his mind began to fail him, he had tried to cling to as many of his memories of the quest as possible. One that had always remained clear as day no matter how much he aged was the image of Thorin giving him one of those rare smiles, in the heart of a mountain and besieged both from without by the approaching men and elves and from within by the encroaching dragon sickness. "You know what? It might actually be better if you go back to brooding. The others are going to start thinking you've been smoking too much pipeweed."

He shook his head. "It still troubles me that they would worry should I appear content, but when I am in a dark mood they assume that all is well." Bilbo stepped out the door, looking back at Thorin with a grin. "Well, you do have a tendency to overthink dangers and troubles. If you're in a good mood, then I think they assume you're taking us to Erebor via a field of daisies and kittens."

And with that, Bilbo stepped out and helped the Durin brothers and Bofur to wake up the rest of the company. He should really give Thorin his privacy,after all. For him, it probably seemed as if he had been stabbed through the chest and died only a few weeks ago.

He would have to remember to make something with blackberries in it on the road. He didn't care what dwarves said, sweet things always made it easier to see events in a better light. He shoved his way through the clumps of dwarves now blocking his entrance into the kitchen and hallway, thankful that he had eaten earlier. He made sure to double check everything in his bag before placing it by the door, ready to go as soon as possible. Then he paused.

It felt as if he was missing something. something important. He re-checked his bag, fumbled through his jacket, pulled out the pockets in his trousers. Oh, where was it, where was it… it was such a small thing, had he lost it? His worry and anxiety mounted, until his fingers found their way to his waistcoat pocket.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Of course. That was where he always put it. It was a wonder he ever thought the thing lost at all, but then again he was a natural worrier. With a small smile, he pulled out a square of cloth, with the initials B.B. embroidered on the corner. No matter what he had told Thorin, it wouldn't do to leave this behind again, now would it?

Thorin had woken before the dawn. He was the only one with his own room, but the solitude had been somewhat unnerving after spending so long sleeping with the buzz of crickets and snoring of companions. Of course, soon he would probably be more than willing to trade those things for a warm bed again, but it still felt unsettling that he could not see the other members of the company around him.

He lay there in the relative darkness, (With his dwarf night vision, he could still see rather well) Listening to the others snore and the birds chirp. He had decided to get up when he heard Bofur waking Bilbo. He pulled on his tunic and boots with a sigh, rubbing a hand against his cheek as if to wipe away some of the weariness that still clung to him after last night's discussion.

He could still hardly believe that Bilbo had even been able to forgive him. Hell, he couldn't even forgive himself. It was just another thing to add to his growing list of debts that he could never truly repay. Still, he was glad that the hobbit was coming along with them on the journey. It felt right, somehow, to have him by his side.

Thorin cringed. Right? The two of them had been ill-matched since the beginning. He could hardly remember a single time that He had not either called the hobbit a burden, or else pushed him aside in favor of other matters, wandering through the treasury, following in his grandfather's footsteps.

Bilbo had risked everything to help him and his kin on a suicidal quest. Then he had saved the quest, and Thorin's own life, from destruction multiple times. He had endured Thorin's wrath, fought in one of the largest and bloodiest battles in Middle Earth's history. He had gone through more than Thorin should ever, _could_ ever have asked him. And even when he had returned home, it had been to a life of reclusiveness and isolation from his neighbors and kin, save his nephew Frodo. All the while, his heart was slowly corrupted by The One Ring. Until he brought himself to do the one thing that Thorin never could. He gave up the item he had been obsessed with for over sixty years.

They both had a second chance at this journey. He had a second chance to make up his shortcomings and build a better future, try to ease the lodestone of guilt he bore if only the slightest bit.

But for now, the journey was only starting. He could hear the sounds of Bilbo and Bombur cookin breakfast in the kitchen, The hobbit making small talk with his quick wit and cunning anecdotes, while also instructing Bombur on how to properly make a fried egg. He was a different person then when Thorin had first met him, and also different from the blood-soaked shield brother he had left behind. This Bilbo had some of the same frivolous nature of the gentlehobbit he had first dragged on his adventure, but it was not the instinctive, naive manner it had once been.

Now he seemed less flighty and more coy, as if he played the part of respectable Master of Bag End but was ready at any moment to drop the guise. He seemed more in control, more aware of his abilities. Thorin wondered what it would be like, finding out just who this new Bilbo was. No. It was the same Bilbo, but he was… older. More mature.

Thorin wondered if, now that he was no longer so naive, he would not be as thoughtlessly forgiving or gentle. It made his sense of self-reproach even stronger to think that it was he who had taken away the carefree hobbit he may once have been, tested his endurance beyond what any hobbit should have to take.

But Bilbo was who he was, and Thorin knew that he would have plenty of time to become re-acquainted with him. After all, he wouldn't be able to act like he trusted him until he had proven himself at least once to the rest of the company.

Suddenly, Bilbo himself popped his head into Thorin's room. "Your nephews are up. I should probably shorten my earlier estimate from three minutes to about sixty-five seconds." Thorin just gave him a look. He was not in the mood for company just yet. "Come on, Thorin Broodyshield, breakfast is getting cold." Thorin let out a sigh. That was another thing. This Bilbo was undoubtedly less easily intimidated. Although then again, after the battlements, he supposed that it would be impossible for a simple scowl to ever cow the hobbit again... a shudder ran through him, and he quickly schooled his face into a mask of nonchalance.

"Well fine then, stay in here until your eyebrows fuse together, but I am eating your share." Despite himself, Thorin chuckled. Only Bilbo could make jokes at a time like this, with him, after everything that had happened between them. "Are you packed? It would probably be best if you avoided the handkerchief fiasco that occurred last time." Bilbo gave an indignant huff. "Thorin, after being alive for one hundred and thirty three years, one learns to live without pocket handkerchiefs. Although I do wish I had something to wear that is more suited to this sort of thing than my good dinner jacket; it was quite ruined last time." Thorin snorted, then smiled at the memory.

Even after spending so long in such rough conditions, Bilbo would still complain over the most redundant things. It was always, 'Oh dear, I stained my good shirt!' or ' My goodness, I do believe I forgot to brush the dirt off my bedroll last night!' and never 'Valar above, I just threw myself in front of a huge orc riding a warg with nothing but a elvish letter opener!' or 'God damn it, I haven't had anything to eat for three days in a row stuck out here in this accursed forest!'

Bilbo cocked his head to one side, eying Thorin thoughtfully. "You know what? It might actually be better if you go back to brooding. The others are going to start thinking you've smoked too much pipeweed." Thorin would have rolled his eyes, had he not suspected that Bilbo was actually serious. Mahal, he must have been pretty damn grouchy the last time around.

"It still troubles me that they would worry should I appear content, but when I am in a dark mood they assume that all is well." Bilbo smiled, beginning to step out of the door. Then, he paused and looked back. "Well, you do have a tendency to overthink dangers and troubles. If you're in a good mood, then I think they assume you're taking us to Erebor via a field of daisies and kittens."

Thorin chuckled, and then Bilbo was out of the room, from the sound of it employing nothing but the most brutal methods to awaken the other sleeping dwarrows. At least, brutal by hobbit standards, which pretty much encompassed a lot of kicking and a few well-placed whacks with a spatula. Thorin re-checked his pack one last time, and then set out to meet the company for breakfast.

Bilbo felt good. Good in a way he hadn't in a very, very long time. It was the feel of the road, of having companions to talk and joke with. He couldn't remember the last time things for him had felt so _right._ The closest feeling he had to it was when he had given up the ring to Frodo. But that had been a brief victory, for as his mind was mostly freed from the clutches of the ring, his body was claimed by the sands of time. He had barely been able to make it back to Rivendell from Erebor.

But now he was young again, and being swept off his feet by the road. Oh, was it wonderful to experience the inspiration for that poem again... well, actually, he was on a pony, not being swept off his feet, but still. It was pretty much the same. Even if it would take some time to get used to their hair again. Myrtle whickered softly, throwing her head back a bit. He sneezed, sinuses welling up, and reached to his waistcoat pocket.

He couldn't believe it. He would have sworn that he had the handkerchief on his way out. How had he managed to lose it? "Oi! What's wrong, Master Baggins?" He looked up to see Bofur's cheerfully inquisitive gaze. "Just Bilbo, thank you, and if you must know then I do believe that I've left behind my pocket handkerchief."

Thorin was suddenly suffering from a rather loud coughing fit. Bilbo glared at him. He would have to make a mental note to get him back for that. "Here!" Bofur ripped a piece off his jacket and handed it back to Bilbo. "Wouldn't want our burglar to get the sniffles now, would we?" If it hadn't been for the dwarf's shit-eating grin then Bilbo just may have been inclined to believe him.

"Hey! Nori! Bofur said to give this to you; doesn't want you having a runny nose." Bilbo tossed the square of fabric back in the general direction of a certain star-shaped hairdo. Nori popped up, indignation written all over his face. "I am a _thief,_ not a burglar, thank you very much!" "No he isn't!" Dori chimed in, giving his brother a stern glare. "He's an _Expert Liberator of Valuable Objects,_ isn't that right Nori?"

Bilbo laughed. "Hardly 'expert'. I believe this is yours, Nori." He tossed a pouch of needles and small bottles of questionable liquids at the dwarf. Nori looked from the bag to Bilbo, then back at the bag, then back to Bilbo. "Okay, I changed my mind. I want to be a burglar." " _Nori!_ " "Oh, come on, Dori, even you have to admit that's just a bit impressive!"

The rest of the company burst out laughing, and as Bilbo settled back to enjoy the company of his old friends, he thought to himself that everything they were soon to go through just might be worth it.

He didn't understand it. It was quite simply beyond his imagination. How was it that Gandalf, who had been able to rain a cascade of flaming pine-cones on a group of wargs, drive back the necromancer, and if Bilbo was not very much mistaken even _come back from the dead,_ could not stop a simple rainfall?

Well, then again, according to Bilbo he had not been able to prevent a blizzard either, so maybe it was simply that the mechanics of weather were beyond his magic. Either way, Thorin was utterly miserable. It made acting moody and unsociable quite easy, though.

Every once in awhile he would glance back at the hobbit. Whereas he had to act as similar to how his friends had know him as possible, Bilbo did not, and the difference between how he had acted at the beginning of the quest last time and how he acted now was quite noticeable.

Already he had managed to make friends with most of the company, and was currently worrying over Kili, who stoically insisted that he was not, in fact, catching cold, he just thought that Bilbo would feel less embarrassed by his own sniffling if he started blowing his nose as well.

Well, at least the rain was slowing now. That they had not needed to fight trolls in the rain the last time they were here had been a small blessing. Speaking of which...

Suddenly, Thorin spotted a familiar sight. It was the ruined home that they had camped by before encountering the trolls. It was about time he got Orcrist back. He approached the abandoned farmhouse, pretending to survey the area. "I believe we should camp here for the night. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies." He gave them both his very best Durin glare. "And watch them _carefully._ " The brothers nodded.

He looked over to Gloin and Oin. "You two. Get a fire going." They nodded and began to gather as much dry wood as they could find. Gandalf walked up to the broken down and rotting remnants of the home. His expression darkened and brow furrowed with worry.

"I think that it would be wiser to move on. We could make for The Hidden Valley." Thorin looked up sharply, scowling at Gandalf. "You mean Rivendell. If I remember correctly, then I believe I already told you that I would not go near that place." Strangely, ever since he had come back to life, his disliking for elves had diminished greatly. When he remembered their betrayal, he no longer saw Thranduil as the face of all elvenkind, leaving his people to suffering and death without a care in the world. He saw a flawed individual whose first priority was, and always would be, his people.

Thorin may have had more than his fair share of his own flaws, but hypocrisy was one he hoped to leave behind him."Why not? The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."

Well, he _could_ take Gandalf's advice, and risk the doubt and suspicion of his kin. "I do not need their advice." The furrow in Gandalf's brow deepened. "We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us." Thorin snorted. "I have no doubt. But at what cost? The pride of my kin? Would you have us seek aid from the ones who abandoned us, left us to die and cower in the wilderness? In our eyes, they are the ultimate example of betrayal." Gandalf's look of frustration and annoyance shifted slightly. What he looked at Thorin with now was just a bit closer to curiosity.

Then, he swiftly turned round and began to stalk off. Bilbo watched him go by with an expression of mild interest. Then, he sidled up to Thorin. "What did you say this time?" he said softly, looking up at Thorin plaintively, only the mischievous twinkle in his eyes giving away that he was not asking out of simple concern. "That is no business of yours, _halfling_." He said loudly. Then, as he turned to stomp off, he said quietly, "'Told him that everybody would be pissed if I agreed with him."

It was a good thing he wasn't looking at Bilbo, otherwise the hobbit's smirk might have proved infectious. "Well, if we get in danger and he isn't here to help us, I'll have you know I'm blaming your kingly arse for it!" Thorin had to choke back a laugh, before searching for the closest thing in this forest to a corner for him to pretend to brood in.

Bilbo missed Sting. The kitchen knife was unbalanced and disproportionate, feeling awkward as it hung by his waist. Still, at least this time he wouldn't have to pick-pocket a troll.

he slipped quietly away to go and watch the boys. Things would be easier without him having to pick-pocket a troll, but easiest if the ponies were never captured to begin with. He leaned back against a birch tree, surveying the lads as they laughed and talked, doing pretty much anything that was _not_ keeping an eye on the ponies.

As quietly as he could, he stepped out of his hiding spot and walked over. "My, my, and I thought men were terrible at concentration. If you two aren't more careful, something is going to happen to those poor beasts." Fili and Kili jumped, staring in shock at Bilbo's appearance. "We were-" "You see-" "It's this special dwarf thing…" "We have super vision!" "Yes!" We're watching the ponies!" "Honest!"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Trust me when I say that I know the extent of dwarven abilities. Super vision isn't on the list. Now, tell me something, do you see that light over there?" The brothers looked over their shoulders. "Yes." "Kinda." "He means yes." Bilbo stepped forward slightly. "Well, as our resident burglar I thought it would be best to check it out, and do you know what I saw? Trolls. Three of them. All of whom were very sick of mutton and complaining about the lack of man or horse flesh. do you think they'd make do with dwarves and ponies?" Fili and Kili both paled considerably. "That's what I thought. So, do us all a favor, and keep an eye on the ponies."

Both of them slowly nodded and turned round. With a sigh of relief, Bilbo began making his way back to camp. Bombur would be needing his help with the soup. "Er… Master Baggins?" Well, that hadn't taken long. He should really learn to stop expecting any semblance of peace on this trip.

"You know that shaggy black pony that Balin rides?..." "And the white one that Dwalin uses?" "Well…" "We're not saying they're gone…" "But they aren't here." "And there are some huge ass footprints on the ground." "Just thought you'd like to know."

Bilbo rounded on the brothers. "When this is over, you two owe me a new set of nerves, because the ones I have are gradually being frayed into non-existence. Well done. I didn't think it was possible for anyone other than my nephew to accomplish that."

"So, what with you being our burglar and all, you'll be getting them back, right?" Bilbo dodged Fili's arm. "I will scout out the area. I may even get a chance to steal them. But you two are going for backup, and I am not doing _anything_ until you get back." The brothers shared a look. "Deal."

Fili and Kili rushed out of the woods, making a bee-line for a certain furred overcoat. "Thorin!" The dwarf glanced up. The brothers didn't bother waiting for him to speak, getting out what they had to say in a panicked rush. "Trolls." "The ponies." "Master Boggins." "Going to the trolls." "To get the ponies." "You need to come." " _Right now._ "

Thorin's eyes widened. "Master Baggins said that he was going to go and get the ponies?" The brothers exchanged a glance. Well, it certainly didn't _sound_ like the beginning of the worst scolding they had ever received in their collective lives… "He said he was going to wait for us to get backup." "Then he's going to get the ponies." It was hard to tell, but there just may have been a bit of relief in their uncle's eyes when he heard that.

"Right then. Dwalin, help me round everybody up. Tell them to bring their weapons; we're going to need to get our ponies back."

Author's Note: I know that the space between chapters have varied a bit lately. I promise I'll try to update regularly about every 5-6 days from now on.


	5. Chapter 5

Thorin scanned the trees in front of him, scowling into the darkness. Suddenly, Bilbo burst out of the forest. "Yavanna, stop walking right this instant! I mean I knew you dwarves were loud, but _honestly_ …" Thorin obligingly stopped moving. "I am glad that you did not simply rush into danger." Bilbo snorted. "Me, rush into danger without thinking? I'm quite sure I have no idea where you would get such a notion."

Bilbo glanced over Thorin's shoulder, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. "Are the others coming?" Thorin nodded. "Yes, I asked them to fan out, so that if we need to we can take the trolls from all sides. We should make as much of an advantage of our numbers as possible." Bilbo nodded.

"Right then, let's get on with it." He stepped forward, but when Thorin stayed still, he looked back. The dwarf was looking at him with an expression of bewilderment. "You're doing it again." Bilbo frowned. "Doing what?" Thorin made a vague gesture with his hand. "This. You are about to go and face three stone trolls in a fight, with no proper weapon, hardly any training, and yet you speak of it as though you are going to the market-place on a saturday afternoon."

Bilbo huffed indignantly. "First of all, I'm quite sure that I have no idea what you're talking about. I take a practical approach to all things, whether fighting mountain trolls or haggling with the gaffer over the proper price of mushrooms. And secondly, you don't know that this will end in a fight. I just may be able to burgle those ponies properly this time, and I can do the same for Orcrist, Sting and Glamdring, so have no fear. I'm just acting as any sensible person would."

Thorin simply gave him a dark, unreadable look. Then he sighed. "Hobbits." He turned round, pushing Bilbo forward. "Let's get going. It's time for you to earn your keep."

Bilbo gave him a wry smile. "Of course. New life, new slate. I suppose the last time doesn't count any more." Thorin snorted. "You think you earned anything last time by getting caught twice in a row?" Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Oh shut up, Thorin."

Then, he stopped. Thorin paused as well. "Alright. You wait here. And this is important. Whatever happens, you are _not_ to rush in there until I give some sort of signal. Is that clear?" Thorin frowned "What happens if you are unable to give a signal?" "Then you have my permission to rush into the fray with as much gusto and majesty as you can muster."

Then he gave Thorin one last reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder, before slipping away to the very edge of the firelight.

Thorin's eyes slid over the trolls once again. If memory served, their names were Tom, William, and Bert. They appeared much the same as they had the last time. Tall, thickly muscled, wearing naught but filthy rags. He dearly hoped that Bilbo's burglaring skills had improved over his long years, otherwise their odds didn't look very promising. Then again, he was a dwarf. He would not give up on a challenge before it even began, nor would he forget the saving grace which had preserved them in the past. There were few whose judgement he trusted over his own, but Bilbo's name was on the list.

His burglar crept along the edge of the firelight, making nary a rustle among the leaves. He hefted his axe. Bilbo reached the pen, shushing the ponie's gentle whickering and sawing at the ropes with his knife. Thorin tensed. The ponies slowly stepped out of their pen. He felt as if his nerves were strung taut, ready to break at the slightest sign of danger. He watched Bilbo carefully, looking for any sign of distress. The hobbit looked back at him, as if feeling his stare. he gave a cheeky grin, nodding in the direction of the ponies, then began to creep away.

Suddenly, one of the trolls sneezed, sending a glob of phlegm into the putrid stew they were cooking. The ponies panicked, bolting away with neighs of fear, Bilbo only just managing to avoid being knocked over, leaping to the side. However, he wasn't quick enough to avoid the hands of one of the trolls.

Thorin swore under his breath. He quickly scanned the surrounding forest. The 'Ri brothers were off to the his left, all of them watching the scene unfold rapidly with growing horror. Balin and Dwalin were across from him, and he could see grasper and keeper glinting in the firelight. Fili and Kili were side by side, bow strung and swords drawn. and the 'Ur brothers were spread out, with Bofur directly behind Bilbo, keeping ahold of the pony's reins to keep them from bolting into the wilderness, Bombur closer to the firelight with a vice-like grip on his ladle. Bifur was in the lower branches of a tree directly above Bombur, looking like a feral cat about to spring. They were all ready.

"Blimey, Bert, look what I've copped!" The troll inspected Bilbo as if he were a troublesome squirrel that had chewed through of of his bedrolls. Bert sidled up, spoon held high and eying Bilbo suspiciously. "What is it?" The hobbit struggled to recover his breath, shifting in the troll's hand. "I dunno, but I don't like the way it wriggles!" The troll tossed Bilbo to the ground, where he lay, panting and stunned. "I'm a hobbit. And I would be very much obliged if you would allow me to leave." The third troll (Thorin thought that his name was Tom) pulled out a filleting knife, pressing it against Bilbo's chest. "Like hell we're lettin you go. You was tryin to make off with our nags!" "Yeah…" said Bert, looming over the hobbit. "I wonder what we're gonna eat instead…"

William, who looked as if he had already been sneaking more than his fair share from the stew pot, was slightly more sympathetic. "Poor little blighter! Let him go, he wouldn't make more than a mouthful." Bert turned back to Bilbo. "Are there any more a you hobbits hangin about?" He shook his head frantically. "Nope. Not a single one. I was out here by myself." William turned back to Bert. "See! What harm's it gonna do to let the little fellow go?" Bert fixed him with a glare, turning the knife from Bilbo's chest to William's. "You're a fat fool, William, as I've said afore this evening." "I won't take that from you, Bert!"

In one swift motion, William planted a punch in Bert's right eye, sending him hurtling to the ground. With a roar, he lashed out, dragging William down with him until they were both sprawled on the forest floor, fighting and cursing like mad. Bilbo appeared to be in too much shock to do much more than stare for a moment, then he scrambled to his feet, racing out of the firelight. Just before he went out of sight, Thorin spotted him turn round. He looked up at Thorin, gave him a nod, and began to set out in the direction of the troll hoard.

Thorin leaned back against a tree. Everything was working out so much better than it had the last time. The trolls, if left alone, would likely fight among themselves until the dawn took them, Bilbo would claim to have found the hoard when scouting the area and get Thorin Orcrist, and everything would work out. This was good. It meant that things could be different. It meant that things could be _better._

Suddenly, a rough khuzdul shout drew his attention across the firelight. Thorin watched in horror as Dwalin launched himself into the troll's fray. Ori and Balin followed, all of them screaming at the top of their lungs. _No._

 _Thorin gripped his sword , launching himself into the clearing. The sight of his nephews nearly stopped his heart. Kili and Fili had rushed in first, putting themselves in danger to try and save the damnable burglar. How stupid were they? He would probably just crawl away once he was free, trying desperately to save his own hide. He had no experience in battle, would be no help here. Now his nephews were whirling and fighting, working in perfect synchrony. All that he could imagine was the trolls tearing them to bits. So he lifted his sword high, leading the company into the clearing with his loudest battle cry._

He wasn't sure at what point he had engaged with one of the trolls, but he could feel the strain as his dwarvish blade struck toughened hide. Damn, he missed Orcrist.

 _He and Dwalin fought in unison. He fell down onto all fours, Dwalin using his back as a lift to leap at one of the trolls. Then he rolled back to a kneeling position, slicing through one of the troll's achilles tendon._

Thorin slashed lower, parting flesh at the crook of the monster's knee. It gave a howl, sinking to one leg and looking at him with pure murder in it's gaze. It tried to crush him with a clumsy blow, huge fist leaving a dent in the forest floor. As he spun around to dodge, a mop of curls entered his line of sight.

 _The Hobbit had no place in battle._

He tried to rush to Bilbo's side without thinking, running on battle fever and pure instinct.

 _He was wrong about their burglar. He took advantage of the situation, stealing one of the troll's knives and freeing the ponies._

Then, before Thorin could reach him, Bilbo was swept off his feet by a huge hand, cracked nails digging into his corduroy jacket.

 _Well then. Nevermind that re-evaluation._

The trolls were holding Bilbo up by his arms and legs, suspended about ten feet of the ground. "Drop yer arms." A cunning grin spread across Tom's face. "Or we'll rip his off." Thorin only had to look at the terrified expression on the hobbit's face once before he planted his sword in the ground.

Well, this was a fine mess, and no mistake. Bilbo shifted in the bag, trying to lift his hands and work his slender fingers through the knots binding the top of the sack. Unfortunately, the opening was drawn tight, making it impossible for him to try and undo the knot. He looked over the Thorin. What were they going to do now?

The dwarf caught his gaze. He nodded at the trolls. Well then. It looked like he had the floor. The trolls were still bickering among themselves, oblivious to the dwarves cries of discomfort and indignation. He only hoped that he could push down his fear and discomfort long enough to fool them.

William sniffed at Bert's attempts to roast Dwalin, Nori and Dori."Don't bother cooking them, let's just sit on them and squash them into jelly." Bert shook his head, baffled by his friend's poor palate. "They should be sautéed, and then grilled with a sprinkle of sage."

Bilbo winced. That was most definitely _not_ an acceptable way to die. "I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Bert looked up, puzzlement playing across his blunt features. "Why not?" "Well..." Bilbo leaned forward and stage-whispered conspiratorially, "He's infected. He has parasites as big as your arm running through his tubes." Bert looked from his admittedly very large arm to the dwarf, jumping backwards with a squawk. Of course, the other dwarfs couldn't catch onto a plan if their lives depended on it. Which, unfortunately, they did.

"We don't have parasites!" "Yeah! He's lying!" " _You_ have parasites!" Kili shot Bilbo a look of betrayal. Then, Thorin delivered an abrupt kick to his nephew's head, giving him a long, hard look. Realization dawned on the prince's face. Then, in a very loud voice, Oin said, "I've got parasites _twice_ as big as your arm!" Kili shot him a glare, then yelled " _Mine_ are the biggest parasites!" Fili popped up. "No they aren't, you lying git, _Mine_ are!" Nori paused trying to reach one of his hidden knives to join in. "We're riddled!" "Yes, I'm riddled." Said Ori, who still looked like he didn't quite get what was going on. Even Dori joined in, although his expression could have curdled milk. "Yes, we are. Badly!"

William and Bert shared looks of horror, stepping away from the Dwarves on the spit as though they would contract parasites just from breathing the same air as them. Tom, however (Who seemed to be the only one with any sense) stepped forward to continue turning the spit. "What would you have us do then? Let them all go?" Bilbo shrugged. "Well..." The troll gave a growl, stepping forward so that his bulk towered over the hobbit.

"You think I don't know what you're up to?! This little _ferret_ is taking us for fools." Bilbo raised an indignant eyebrow. "Ferret? Honestly? You lot really don't have a lot of imagination, do you?" Tom snarled, pulling out his knife and reaching for the hobbit. "The dawn will take you all!" He turned round, confused by the new voice. A grey figure stood upon the boulder shouldering the troll's hoard. Bert squinted. "Who's that?" "No idea." "Can we eat him too?"

Gandalf brought down his staff upon the boulder with a crack, splitting it clean in two. The trolls cursed and shrieked as sunlight shone out, turning flesh to stone wherever it shone. Within seconds, they were no more than statues, crouching over their camp for the rest of eternity.

Thorin gave a sigh of relief as he clambered out of the bag. "Well, Gandalf, you have once again displayed your talent for coming to the rescue exactly _after_ you were most needed." The wizard raised an eyebrow.

"My burglar seemed to serve very well in my stead. And besides, would you rather I had not come at all?" He thumped one of the trolls with his staff, a furrow appearing on his brow. "These must have come down from the Ettenmoors." Thorin did his best to scowl at the wizard's somewhat evasive answer. "So then, what was so important as to call you away from here?" Gandalf turned back to him. "Looking ahead."

Thorin snorted. "Is that all? We are not so far from Rivendell, you know. I would not be surprised to find you were having a little chat with your elf friends. Or planning a way to lead us there unknowingly." The wizard let his piercing gaze sweep over Thorin. "So, are you saying you do not trust me, Thorin Oakenshield?" He shook his head, a small smirk playing across his lips. "Only that I do not trust you to take my fears and doubts into account when making your plans. Although…" His gaze drifted to Bilbo, who was assisting Bifur with cutting open his sack. "That is not always such a bad thing."

He quickly looked back to Gandalf. "Come, those trolls no doubt had a hoard somewhere close by, and I would be loathe to leave it undisturbed." He walked over to the few remaining members of the company still entrapped, freeing them as quickly as he could, then set off into the woods, trying to appear as if he did not already know where he was going.

As the company began to spread out, Bilbo trotted up alongside him. "Well now, that wasn't too bad, was it? I must have been more than twice as frightened the first time round." Thorin rolled his eyes. "That is because you already knew what was to come. Although I must say I still found the entire debacle thoroughly nerve-wracking. If I have any black hair left by the time this journey is done, it will be a blessing from Mahal."

Bilbo laughed. "My my now, the great Thorin Oakenshield, making jokes about his hairdo? I doubt if anything shall ever surprise me again." Thorin chuckled, giving the hobbit a light pat on the shoulder. "You did well. Why don't you go and 'discover' the troll hoard now; you're going to need as much good will with the company as you can get." Bilbo shook his head. "We are getting along very nicely this time around, thank you very much, and as the leader of our company I believe the honor should be yours." Thorin shook his head. "Nay, you will need some more references for your skills before I can act as though I trust you when we are before the company. Go on, you deserve it." Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Oh, very well, you stubborn dwarf." Then he disappeared into the trees.

Thorin smiled, fingers curling and clenching at the thought of having Orcrist in his grasp again. And it would be good to see Bilbo properly armed; he would have to throw away that kitchen knife when the hobbit wasn't looking, it had been crafted by men and was woefully unbalanced and fragile. He should have thought to give him a dagger of some sort before they set out. For some reason he liked the idea of Bilbo carrying some dwarvish weapon, perhaps a small dagger that could easily be hidden inside his coat sleeve, or a set or rings that would lock together when pressure was applied to them…

He walked off towards the direction of the troll hoard as shouts of joy and surprise reached his ears, daydreaming about what sort of weapon he might craft that would fit the nature of his burglar's skills.


	6. Chapter 6

'Well, now,' thought Bilbo as he stuck his head into the cave, 'This is a fine mess.' There were bones and golden coins scattered all across the floor, and the stink of rot and other, decidedly less pleasant things was in the air. Well, he would just have to learn deal with it. After all, when he returned home he wasn't going to turn up his nose at free money just because it smelled a little.

He turned around quickly, before he started choking. "I found it!" Nori, who had been searching nearby, popped up, wrinkling his nose. "Is that what the awful stench is?" "It is a troll hoard, Nori," Gandalf sidled up, peering into the cave entrance. "And if the smell was not enough warning in and of itself, I would caution you to be careful what you touch." The rest of the company began to gather, trickling in through the narrow entrance. "It seems a shame to just leave it lyin' around…" Bofur shifted some leaves aside to reveal more of the golden coins littering the floor. It would probably be more than enough to keep him and his brothers fed for a year. "Anyone could take it."

Gloin's keen gaze swept over the loot, and a devious glint entered his eyes. "Agreed. Nori, get a shovel." Dori shook his head in distaste as the three proceeded to turn the hoard upside down, collecting every spare coin. Bilbo, however, hung back by the wall, watching Thorin and Gandalf out of the corner of his eye. The two made their way to the back of the cave, where an old sword rack lay. Thorin didn't reach for Orcrist immediately, choosing instead to inspect Glamdring and hand it over to Gandalf, but Bilbo could see the deep relief and satisfaction in his eyes when he hefted the blade and held it up to the light. "These were not forged by any dwarf, nor man, else I am not of the line of Durin." Gandalf nodded, peering at the inscription upon his blade. "These were forged in Gondolin, by the high elves of the First Age."

Thorin grimaced, but held on to the sword. Gandalf's gaze seemed to retract for a moment, becoming dark and piercing. Then he smiled. "Keep it well, Thorin. You could not wish for a finer blade." He nodded, ripping away cobwebs and wiping off dust. Bilbo rolled his eyes. If Gandalf did not catch onto what was happening, what with how obvious Thorin was at times, it would be a miracle. That said... he shook his head. He would have to think on it. Certainly not here. Certainly not now. He was likely worrying over nothing; but the troll incident had awoken some fears within him, fears that could be silenced by none but the wise.

He hoped that he would get a chance to talk to Thorin about it, perhaps sometime in Rivendell. But for now…

His foot brushed against something cold and hard, and he looked down to catch a glimpse of steel. He leaned down, carefully holding the elvish blade up to the light. There were few inscriptions upon it's side, it's main decoration a swirling motif. It was short and leaf-shaped, would not have made anything more than a pocket-knife for a troll, but for him it was as good as a short sword. It was light, but sharp, and sturdy enough. 'Letter Opener' indeed. He clasped Sting to his waist, taking comfort in it's weight. He knew it would serve him very well indeed in the months to come.

Gloin and Nori were just finishing their work, pushing the last layers of dust over their ill-gotten treasure. Dwalin shook his head, disapproving but also somewhat amused. "We're making a long-term deposit." Said Gloin, a broad grin on his face. Bilbo stepped up to the entrance, calling back over his shoulder; "Well, then, when you have your mountain back, I suppose you may come back here and claim it. But for now, I would rather we leave this dreadful place. If I never have to endure the stink of troll again, it will be too soon!"

Thorin nodded, striding past him and gesturing for the others to follow. "Master Baggins is correct. Come, let's get out of this foul place." He raised an eyebrow at their labors, but made no effort to stop them. "Come on, let's go!" Bilbo stepped out of the hoard, glad for the feeling of sunlight on his face. Then, he heard the thump of rabbit feet approaching from the distance.

Thorin had forgotten just how much he hated trolls. Their unkempt holes, their careless scattering of precious metals across dirty floors and rotting bones, and Mahal, the _stench._ But oh, was it worth it to have Orcrist in his grasp again. He glanced over at the others as they gathered up most of the coins, putting them safely away in a locked chest. There was no need for that, really. After all, when they had reclaimed the mountain he would make sure that all of them had more gold than they knew what to do with. He was just about to tell them to stop, leave it alone and get outside, when he paused. The dwarves would have no need of it, true, but what of Bilbo? There was no way he could transport his share all the way from Erebor back to Bag End. Why, the first time around this gold had been the majority of what he brought home. Guilt flooded him at the thought of the hobbit returning home, hair unkempt, clothes worn and battered, with only a small chest of coins to show for it. He quickly pushed the thought aside. He would get his fair share this time, if Thorin had to carve a passageway through the misty mountains to transport it all.

In the meantime though, it couldn't hurt to let them set this aside. He would consider it a bit of a 'safety net' just in case all did not work out as it should. Suddenly, the sound of Bilbo speaking to the others roused him from his thoughts. "Well, then, when you have your mountain back, I suppose you may come back here and claim it. But for now, I would rather we leave this dreadful place. If I never have to endure the stink of troll again, it will be too soon!" Thorin swore internally. Of course, what were they doing, spending so long here?! There was an orc pack they would be needing to out-run. "Master Baggins is correct. Come, let's get out of this foul place." He herded the company out of the cave and into the sunlight, hackles rising as he caught the sound of Radagast's rabbit sleigh approaching. So much for getting a head start.

"Something is coming. Everybody draw your weapons, and prepare for combat!" Gandalf stepped up beside him. "Hurry now; and stay together!" Then, Radagast's sleigh came bursting out of the forest. "Thieves! Fire! Murder!" Gandalf relaxed, sheathing his new sword and approaching his friend with an open smile. But Thorin and Bilbo both remained tense, hefting their weapons and eyeing the woods. If only those two wizards would get their talking done a little quicker this time around, they just might be able to get a head start on the wargs.

"Radagast! Ah." Gandalf leaned in closer to him, lowering his voice. " What on earth are you doing here?" Radagast's gaze flitted from tree to tree, eyes bright with fear and worry. "I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something's wrong. Something's terribly, terribly wrong!" Gandalf's eyes narrowed. "Yes?" Rhadagast opened his mouth, finger raised and prepared to speak… then closed it. Confusion clouded his features. "Give me a minute."

Durin's beard and balls...

Bilbo suddenly gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like 'decay.' "Oh… um… I had a thought, and now I've gone and lost it!" 'dark magic' "It was right there, on the tip of my tongue!" 'Necromancer!' Oin glanced at Bilbo curiously. "Do you need a throat salve of some sort, Master Baggins?" The hobbit sighed and shook his head as Gandalf removed a stick insect from Radagast's mouth. "No thank you, Oin."

"The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf. A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows any more; at least not anything good. The air is foul with decay. But worst of all are the webs." For the first time, a look of alarm shot across Gandalf's face. "Webs? What do you mean?" "Spiders, Gandalf. Giant ones. Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant, or I am not a Wizard. I followed their trail. They came from Dol Guldur." Alarm slowly turned to horror as Gandalf processed what Radagast had said. "Dol Guldor? But the old fortress is abandoned." As if a switch had been flicked, the other wizard's eyes became distant and glassy, his mind wandering the paths of memory. "No Gandalf, it is not. A dark power dwells there, such as I have never felt before. It is the shadow of an ancient horror." He grew steadily more agitated, expression approaching mania,and for a moment Thorin saw a glimpse of more than just a scatter-brained old animal lover. He saw a Mair, old and powerful, and helplessly _afraid._ Just the idea of what could strike such terror into the heart of one so mighty chilled him to the bone.

"One that can summon the spirits of the dead. I saw him, From out of the darkness. Gandalf, a _Necromancer_ has come." Suddenly he came to with a start, jolted out of his reverie. "Er… sorry." Gandalf passed over his pipe. "Try a bit of Old Toby. It'll help settle your nerves." Thorin looked desperately to Bilbo. This was taking far too long. From the look on his face, the hobbit agreed. "Look, I am sure that all of this wizarding business is very fine and dandy, but as we are apparently in an area infested with trolls, mightn't we continue this conversation somewhere else?" Gandalf gave Bilbo a sharp look. "This shall not take too long. We are discussing something very important, on which the fate of many lives may hang." "Well then," Said Bilbo, crossing his arms, "I am sure that you might prefer to speak in some more, ah, _edhellen_ surroundings?" A look of shock passed over Gandalf's face. "Try as you might, you are not very subtle, my friend." The rest of the company began murmuring among themselves. Bofur poked his head around the hobbit's shoulder. "What do you mean, 'he isn't very subtle'? And what's that word? Do hobbits' have a language?" Bilbo shook his head. "I only meant that Gandalf here has far better things to do with his time than waste our own. We need to move. _Now."_ As if to punctuate his sentiment, a warg howl rang through the air.

Thorin whirled round at the sound, Orcrist already drawn and ready. " **Infridî!** " A warg leapt down from a boulder, all teeth and fur and hissing snarls. Thorin swung, making a single clean slice straight across the beast's shoulder blade. It Threw itself at him with a growl, heedless of its wound, and Thorin severed its jugular, log tip just nicking vertebrae. He looked up from the carcass, just in time to see the other warg fall flat with an arrow lodged between it's eyes. He would have to congratulate Kili on that later. "Warg scouts," He growled. "We need to move." However, a surprisingly strong old hand fell upon his shoulder. "Who did you tell about this quest, besides your kin?" He pushed Gandalf aside, ushering along the rest of the company. "No one. This no doubt has something to do with that piece of paper you showed me at our first meeting, and all the commotion the trolls were making the night before. Now come on, or we will be overtaken!"

Dwalin walked over. "I'm siding with Thorin now. We have to get out of here." Ori popped up, face white as a sheet and eyes wide with panic. "We can't! We have no ponies; they bolted." Bilbo whispered some slippery, complicated syllables that might have been a Sindarin swear word. Radagast stepped forward, face set and determined. "I'll draw them off." Gandalf raised an eyebrow."Those are Gundabad wargs. They will outrun you." Radagast smiled, a grin so twisted and menacing Thorin shivered from the sight of it. " _These_ are _Rhosgobel_ rabbits. I'd like to see them try." Damn. He didn't think it was possible for anyone other than Bilbo to go from scatterbrained and flippant to straight badass so quickly, but here the wizard was. Maybe they drank tea together or something.

"Right then. You'll draw them off, and we will make our escape. Kili, keep an arrow on your string. Move!" Everybody hastily scrambled forward, making their way through the woods and into the rock-striden field beyond. Dwalin jogged up alongside him "So. Do you have any idea where we can go with a quarter of our supplies, no ponies, and an orc pack on our tail?" Thorin shook his head. "I'm trusting in Gandalf to lead us where we need to go." Dwalin nodded. "Right then." A grin spread across his face. "Let's show these buggers just how dangerous dwarves can be, eh?" Thorin smiled ruefully. "Over short distances." Dwalin shrugged. "Hey, you said Gandalf's getting us outta this. He's got to be, what, at least a thousand years old? How far do you really think he can run?" He smiled. "I wouldn't put it to the test." Dwalin nodded. They kept on like that, running side by, side, until they passed into the field of boulders. It was only a few turns before…

Thorin stopped short, outstretching one arm to stop the rest of the company. The warg pack was passing not several hundred feet away. "To the right!" He yelled. Gandalf turned to the company. "And stay together!" They had again only made a few turns when,suddenly, the orc pack was once again passing right in front of them.

 _What?_

He could've sworn that they were running in the opposite direction of where they had encountered the bastards last time…

He just barely had the presence of mind to grab Ori and pull him back, mind buzzing frantically. What was going on? Why were the orcs following a different path? He searched through the events of the day practically. Radagast was leading them on. Maybe rushing him had caused some change in his judgement. His sense of direction above ground was crap, anyways. Maybe this _was_ where the orc pack had passed by last time. He glanced at Bilbo. The hobbit's face was white as a sheet, and his brows were furrowed in confusion. Well, so much for that theory. "Come on. This way!" Gandalf pushed them on, no doubt directing them to his hidden pathway into Rivendell. He followed without hesitation. At this point, the aloof looks and fripperish architecture of the eves seemed like a wonderful alternative to being eaten alive.

They stopped behind a boulder with one slanting side, panting and leaning, doing the best they could to recover their strength. Then, he heard it. A low growl. He looked up at the huge, tawny warg scout positioned directly above them. He drew Orcrist, giving Kili the look. He nodded. In a split second, the warg was down, mangy carcass falling over the companies head's, jaws still snapping and tearing. Another arrow fixed that. Dwalin slammed his war hammer into it's rider's cranium, but not before it gave a single, ear piercing shriek. Thorin whipped round. "We need to move. Now!" He was no longer sure which direction the wargs had come from last time, or whether it was the same now. All that he could do was pray that they were close enough to the secret pathway to make it.

No matter what they did, dwarves were not built for distance running, and the wargs were catching up fast. Desperately, Thorin signaled for everyone to form a tight circle. They had to buy time. "Kili! Shoot them!" His nephew drew his bow as quick as thought, firing arrow after arrow straight into it's target. Fili drew his blades. "We're surrounded!" Yes, _thank you_ , Fili. Even Kili shot an unimpressed look at him. "Where is Gandalf?!" Oh thank Mahal, one of his kin actually had some intelligence. Dwalin glowered, seething and clenching his battle hammer. "He has abandoned us." He gave Thorin a questioning look. That was not good. "Hold your ground!" Then, thankfully, a familiar pointy hat appeared from behind a boulder. "This way, you fools!" Thorin raced to the secret entrance. "Everybody get in! Come on, all of you, move!" The company raced past, sliding gracelessly into the underground cavern. Nine, ten…

Bilbo pushed past him with Kili in tow. "That's the last of us. Come on, Thorin, get down!" They jumped down, Bilbo managing to land with some semblance of balance, while Thorin and Kili tumbled as they hit the floor. "Is everybody here?" Gandalf nodded. "Yes, we are all whole and accounted for." Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. Just then, the sound of hunting horns rang through the air, and an orc carcass came tumbling down. Thorin reached down, pulling an arrowhead out of it's throat. "Elves." He gave Gandalf a suspicious glare. The wizard, of course, pretended not to notice him. Dwalin was already inspecting the pathway, seeming to have forgotten about his mistrust of Gandalf. "I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or no?" Bofur pushed forward. "Follow it, of course!" The wizard stepped forward. "I think that would be wise." Thorin just caught Bilbo rolling his eyes. It seemed when it came to wizards and their antics, they were of a similar mind.

They proceeded down the passageway, it's narrow base perfectly bright and illuminated by the sunlight above, even though at this time of day it should've been much lower in the sky. He pushed through the narrow stone confines. Not for the last time,Thorin wondered what he would have thought the first time around, if he could see himself now. A second chance at the journey, which so far he was doing a fantastic job of screwing up, actually listening to Gandalf (Even if he didn't always act like it) and now he was anxious to meet with an elven Lord, to have him read a map that had been passed down his line for generations and was a sacred artifact of his people. He felt as if he would have either burst out laughing, or given up on the entire quest right on the spot.

Suddenly, the sound of running water reached his ears. That could only mean one thing. He did his best to move closer to the head of the line, as Dwalin and Bofur reached the path's end. The grunts of discomfort and mutterings of the company all vanished as they walked out to the edge of a waterfall, overlooking a pristine valley, where lay-

"The Valley of Imladris. In the common tongue, however, it is known by another name." "Rivendell." Thorin muttered. He glanced over at the company. Everybody was wearing an expression of either shock, rage, or was too busy gaping at the flimsy elven architecture and complete lack of insulation to comprehend that that was where they were going to be _staying_ for the next few days. "Here lies the last Homely House, east of the sea." Thorin noticed that most of the company had started glaring at Gandalf. Maybe he should say something angry, keep up appearances-

"So, is that where the elves live?" Everybody turned to Bilbo. Gandalf gave him a small, fond smile. "Yes, Bilbo, this is the home of Lord Elrond and his kin." "His treacherous kin." Muttered Gloin. Suddenly, the silence was broken, and everybody started either shouting at Gandalf for leading them to their enemy, or pulling Bilbo aside to try and explain to him the many and horrifying evils of tree-shaggers. Thorin sighed. How on earth they had managed to not be thrown out of Rivendell last time was a mystery. "Come now! Undoubtedly, this was Gandalf's plan all along…" He shot a glare at the wizard. "But, it is either approach the pointy-eared bastards or go back along that pathway to the apparently orc, warg, and troll infested wilds. Get a move on!" He stalked up to Gandalf. "You and I will be having _words_ on this, Gandalf." The wizard raised a single, bushy eyebrow. "We have questions that need to be answered, and a friend of mine here who can help us. Would you rather that this quest fail, then seek the aid of one who could help us?" Thorin shook his head. "You know that Lord Elrond will not approve of our mission. He may try to stop us, and there is already more than enough bad blood between elves and dwarves." Gandalf shrugged. "Well, that may be true enough, but if we handle this with tact, respect and no small degree of charm…" He gave Thorin a meaningful look. "I believe it can be done. Which is why you will leave all of the talking to me." Thorin rolled his eyes. "Of course. But we should still have a backup plan. If we ever need to leave quickly and secretly, I want you to meet us on the mountain pass. We will wait for you. Is that clear?" Gandalf nodded. "Done." Internally, Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. Well, that was one less thing to worry about.

As he lowered himself onto the first step, he noticed that The company still had not abandoned its efforts to forever ruin the good name of the elves in the mind of their burglar. "And so," Bofur was saying to Bilbo, "You see, the term, 'tree-shagger' is really a literal portrayal of the reproductive cycle of elves. They just don't want it to get out there, and that's why they hate it when we say it. It's their most closely guarded secret." The hobbit shook his head. "That is utterly preposterous. You might as well say that Dwarflings sprout from chunks of granite." Bofur pulled back in mock offense. "How could you say such a thing?! Everybody knows that limestone is the best thing for birthing children!" They both laughed. Thorin felt something tighten in his chest as he watched them. Had Bilbo ever laughed like that the first time around?

It was this place, he told himself. The last time, Bilbo had been too busy being awestruck by Rivendell to feel comfortable and at home in it. Now, though, he looked relaxed and at ease, like he had spent a long time away from home and was now returning to it. Rivendell was magical. It tended to have that effect on children of Yavvana. As he stepped down again, Dwalin tapped him on the shoulder. "Something wrong with the burglar?" Durin's beard, had he been staring? He hadn't even noticed. He tried to think of an excuse, but instead opted for pushing Dwalin aside and approaching Bilbo. "Don't listen to a word these bastard elves say, halfling." He growled. "You tell them anything about our quest, a _single_ thing, and you will be on the road back to your little hobbit hole before you can say 'imbecile'" He winced internally. Well, at least they would have plenty of time to talk normally at Rivendell.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "And tell them what? That you guys have spent the past few weeks without changing your small clothes? No offense, but I think that might be rather obvious." Thorin did his absolute best not to laugh. He might have accidentally broken several of his ribs in the process, but it was worth it. He feared that if he opened his mouth, he would asphyxiate from uncontrollable was not the way he wanted to go out this time, Dwalin and his nephews would have a field day with his tombstone. Instead he marched to the head of the company, ignored everyone, and glowered as convincingly as possible until they reached Lord Elrond's house.

Bilbo's gaze rested on the two stone guards positioned above the gateway. It seemed odd, the little differences between dwarves and elves. Although the two statutes both wore identical armour, had their heads turned the same direction, and even had the same turn or their capes in the non-existent breeze, there were subtle differences that set one apart from the other. The one on the left's cape was blown entirely to the side, so as to cover his shins, whereas the one on the right's cape was only turned at the corner. The one on the left's face was also turned more attentively to the company, looking almost directly at them instead of slightly ahead like it's double. He wondered if dwarves ever cared for such small, life-like details.

Lindir descended the stairwell to greet them, nervousness hidden impeccably behind a mask of surreal calm. "Mithrandir." Gandalf turned. "Ah! Lindir!" Thorin stepped forward. "Is Lord Elrond here?" Lindir turned to face the dwarf."No. My Lord Elrond is away." Gandalf frowned. "Not here? Then where is he?" Suddenly, a hunting horn sounded just behind them. Dwalin jumped. "Form ranks!" "No!" All eyes turned to Thorin. "We are not here to greet enemies or show hostility. If we are to be accepted as guests here, then we will act will all the dignity and respect such hospitality calls for." They all gaped. It was as if Thorin had started speaking in Sindarin and playing the harp. "But…" Kili's face twisted. "They're elves!" Thorin nodded. "Yes. and we are dwarves. Do you wish to prove all the false rumours and degrading tales they have told of our people? That we are crass, uncivilized, and have no appreciation for kindness and beauty? If you wish to encourage the unearned hostility between our races, then by all means, give them something to look down upon! Show your worst side, and let them use that to judge an entire race!" Now everyone was staring, Gandalf, Lindinir… and the only just arriving Lord Elrond. Bilbo had been so caught up in what Thorin was saying, he had hardly noticed him approaching the company.

"You must be Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror." Elrond stepped down from his horse, sweeping thorin with a gaze sharp enough to pierce mithril. Then his eyes softened, and he smiled gently. "I met your grandfather when he ruled under the mountain. You have a very different bearing." He bowed, placing a hand over his heart. "In case you have not guessed, I am Lord Elrond, and it is a honour to have you in my household." Lindir looked as if he might start choking on air, and his eyes were bugging out of his skull far more than was healthy or respectable for any elf. Luckily, he seemed to be rendered incapable of speech, so he could say nothing as Elrond and Thorin shook hands. "And as you have observed, I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the mountain. I would be most glad to spend time in the company of such a venerable elf." Elrond smiled. "Come, then, there is food and rest enough for all, and maybe then you can explain to me why there was an orc pack crossing the borders of my lands." Gandalf stepped forward. "Ah, that may have been because of us." Elrond nodded. "You shall have to tell me all about it over dinner."

And so the three ascended the stairs, talking among themselves, while the company and Lindir tried their absolute best not to tear the hair out of their skulls from pure frustration and shock, and Bilbo had his turn at cracking a few ribs containing his laughter.

 _Edhellen_ : Sindarin word for elvish, or of the elves.

 **Infridî:** Khuzdul for ready, or get ready.


	7. Chapter 7

If anyone had been watching the company of Thorin Oakenshield, they probably would have assumed that they were a group of old friends travelling together on a long journey, probably to visit their kin as Thorin had said. If anyone happened to take note of Bilbo Baggins, then they would think that he was a bright young hobbit searching for some excitement in his (probably) unremarkable life. And if anyone ever cast their gaze upon Gandalf, then they would see only a old man whose over-fondness of dwarves had led him to accompany them, to rest his weary mind from the cares of the world. Elrond was no fool, and all these things he saw. But Thorin Oakenshield… his eyes held another story. When Elrond looked at him, he saw shoulders slumped with guilt and responsibility, yet a head held high with pride and determination. His eyes blazed with some cold inner flame, a strength that would cow even the mighty. He had some purpose; he was on a quest. What, then, did that mean for the others? Elrond surveyed them subtly. They fumbled with the delicate elven silverware, shifted uncomfortably on the improvised seats, eyed their greens with distaste. They joked with one another, laughed, even sang. What were they doing here? Were they on this quest as well? Did Thorin lead them, or did each see their own purpose clearly in the mind's eye? What dreams and goals did they share? Not for the first time, Elrond wished that his foresight could open the doors of thought and allow him to glimpse the minds of Lady Galadriel was lucky indeed.

Bilbo didn't like the way Lord Elrond was looking at the company. He knew that look. That was the, 'Discerning Everybody's Secrets Because I'm An Elf And They Can't Tell What I'm Thinking' look. He desperately hoped that Bofur didn't decide to get up on a pedestal and start singing again. Thorin was, surprisingly, doing a very good job of tolerating and conversing with his host. He even managed not to scowl when Kili started giving looks to one of the elven harpists. Bilbo smiled. There was something to be said for dwarven diplomacy after all. Of what he had caught glimpses of after The Battle Of The Five Armies and during his short stay after giving up the ring, he had thought that it normally consisted of a great deal of yelling, swearing, and table thumping.

He absentmindedly watched one of the elven harpist's as her long fingers strummed the chords, coaxing a graceful melody out of the instrument. Suddenly, Dwalin snorted beside him. "Have a thing for elves, Master Baggins?" Bilbo raised an eyebrow, sensing Dwalin's contempt. "They make good music." He caught Kili giving him a sympathetic look as Dwalin snorted and shook his head, muttering something about the strange tastes of halfling's. "Oi, if ye wanna hear some real music, I'd be happy to oblige!" Bilbo just barely managed to hold back a groan as Bofur started to get up from his seat.

Thorin rubbed at the back of his neck with a groan. Lately, that area kept on tensing up or aching. It was getting bloody annoying. He made his way slowly down to his chambers. The rest of the company was out by a fire they had built, (and he definitely did not want to know where the firewood came from) but he was far from ready to join them. It was time he had a private chat.

As he opened his bedroom door, he noticed that Lord Elrond had at least been kind enough not to give him a room with a balcony. It seemed that elves knew something of dwarven preferences after all. With a groan, he flopped onto the too-large bed. "You can come out now." Bilbo appeared from behind one of the curtains, so silently and suddenly he might have been using his magic ring. "There's something I want to talk about." Thorin flopped onto the feather-down mattress with a groan. "There always is, isn't there? Bilbo, the very earth could open up underneath your feet and swallow you whole, and you would probably still find something to speak of concerning the weather or lovely stalactites you were pinned down with." He smiled. It was true, the halfling had a tongue of mithril. But it was always worth listening to his gilded words. "This is important. Thorin, have you ever thought about how or why we're here?" Thorin raised an eyebrow. "I know that my maker, Mahal, offered me a chance to undo some of the mistakes I have made." Oh, such mistakes. It made him wince to even think of the things he had done in his first life. But it all seemed so far away now, almost like a dream. He could nearly convince himself that it was. Nearly. "I assume that it was much the same for you." Bilbo frowned, clenching his hands together tightly and walking briskly to the side of the bed. "It was. Yavanna came to me, and offered me a chance to re-live my life. 'A chance to pass through the veils of time and space' as she put it. What I'm wondering, though, is why." Thorin sat up, the curves of his mouth settling into their familiar frown. "Only you would question such a gift."

Bilbo shrugged. "What can I say? We burglars are inquisitive by nature. Anyway, there is something that I think I've noticed on our journey so far." He leaned forward, and Thorin could see the hardness in his gaze. The hobbit was serious. "Nothing has changed." Thorin almost laughed. Bilbo's worry was so unexpected, and so very, very unfounded. "Of course things have changed! We are not in nearly so bad a position now as we were then. The company has accepted you, we managed to avoid getting quite so many injuries in the troll fight as last time, and, unlike our last stay here, the company is not in danger of either killing or being killed by our most gracious hosts." Bilbo snorted. "Actually, I rather doubt the accuracy of that last one. But that's not my point. Think about it. Has anything really changed? Anything important? Anything major?" Thorin thought back.

"What happened when you tried to change things? Did it work?" As much as Thorin wanted to ignore Bilbo's words, they did send a chill down his spine. He remembered Dwalin running into the troll's camp without his command, when they were on the verge of avoiding the fight and subsequent capture. He remembered how, even though he had tried to lead the company in the opposite direction they had gone last time, the orc pack had still cut off their path. "What are you implying? That we cannot change anything? That our being sent back was a futile gesture, and we are cursed to repeat our mistakes?" Bilbo shook his head. "I don't know. But I really, really think that we should ask someone. Lord Elrond, maybe. Or Gandalf; I think he already suspects something anyway." Yes. Of course, they could just tell everybody, it wasn't like their story was totally insane and nobody in their right minds would believe them. Thorin firmly pushed back the small part of him crying out in dismay; the part of him that knew the real reason he didn't want to tell anyone that they had come back was that then he would have to tell them the story, the whole story, his story.

He hoped that no one would ever know just how truly unworthy he was to be called a leader.

"I think that you are tired, and over-taxed, and that we are both jumping at shadows. If there was no way to change anything, then we wouldn't even be here. All of this… all of this can't just be some cruel joke on us. We are here for a purpose. To make a better ending for ourselves and everybody else. If you do not believe that to be possible, then I suggest you turn back and live your life in you comfortable hobbit hole, far away from all the misery you were made to endure."

Like you almost did last time. Like you should've done when you came back in the first place.

Suddenly, a warm weight settled on his shoulder. He turned in surprise. Bilbo has giving him a long, hard look. "Thorin, I could no more turn back now than then. I'm seeing all of us through this, even if I can't change a Valar-forsaken thing." Then, a small, wry smile lit up his face. "And besides, you know as well as I that all of you clotheads wouldn't last ten minutes on this insane quest without me around."

Thorin had thought that Bilbo could no longer surprise him. That he had seen all of the burglar's tricks.

He was wrong.

After his little talk with Thorin, Bilbo snuck out into the gardens. Technically, there was no real need for the sneaking, but it made him feel better to be doing something secretive. Secrets were like treasures; you could hold them close to your heart and cherish them, a little joy that no-one else had. But they could also be burdensome, as he had learned all too well. He gently lifted and examined a Night Gladiolus, almost absent-mindedly. This secret was eating away at him, as well as his fears of being unable to change the past. With a sigh, he dropped the flower. "You really do have a very beautiful garden."

Lord Elrond glided out from behind a butterfly bush. "Impressive." Bilbo snorted. "Elves are not always as silent as they may seem. You were breathing so loudly, I could have spotted you on a moonless night." Lord Elrond smiled. "It seems that halflings have their uses. It doesn't surprise me that you were brought upon this quest." Bilbo started. "It doesn't?"

Elrond nodded. "Indeed. I have taken note of Gandalf's affinity for your particular race. And I must admit…" He shot a small smile and Bilbo. "It is apparently not unfounded." Bilbo gave an off-handed wave, as if to shoo away the compliment. "Oh, really there's no need for you to say anything like that. I'm just a simple hobbit." Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Are you?" The question took Bilbo completely off guard. He shrugged, sliding a look at the elven lord. "What do you mean?" Elrond lowered his voice a bit, despite the fact that there was no one in the garden to hear them. "There is something strange about you, Bilbo Baggins. A particular aura. I noticed it on your leader, Thorin Oakenshield, when we spoke. I thought it strange for someone of his lineage to be so affable. No offense intended, but his people and my own have not exactly been on the best of terms for quite a long time. Yet he treated me as though I were no different from any dwarf. I want to know where this insight comes from, and why you and him carry the traces of a higher power."

Bilbo stepped back slightly. Even though he no longer had the ring in his possession, his hand slid into his waistcoat pocket out of nervous habit. "If I tell you, what will you do?" Elrond's gaze was unreadable, but Bilbo thought that he saw a slight tensing of his jaw. "That depends entirely on what you tell me." There was a chance here. An opportunity. Through his long life, Bilbo had learned to sense when moments held a certain weight to them. They were moments that really made a difference, when everything hung on a thread. His question, and his word to Thorin. He turned to lord Elrond.

"You tell no one. Not Gandalf, not Saruman. I know that you can't help it if The Lady Galadriel finds out, but I am trusting you with this. No one but you, I and Thorin are aware of the things I am about to tell you. And I have some questions. Actually, quite a few questions." Lord Elrond gave Bilbo a long, dark look. Then, his face brightened somewhat and he smiled. He kneeled in the wet garden dirt, bringing himself very nearly to eye level with Bilbo. "If that is the price of your tale, I will pay it gladly. However, if this concerns all of Middle Earth," And here he took Bilbo's shoulder in his hand. "Or even just your own life, I will do all I can to help. I know the look of one who has seen hardship, and your eyes are wells of experience and sorrow. Never hesitate to confide in me." It felt as if a weight had been lifted from Bilbo's shoulders. He nodded, setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. "Come on then. Let's get on with it." With that, a very new and strange friendship began for Lord Elrond, and a very old and comforting one continued for Bilbo.

Dwalin seemed scandalized by Thorin's willingness to give Elrond the map. "Thorin, that map is the legacy of our people! You cannot simply let this... this elvish lord handle it as if it were some child's scrawl!" Thorin scowled. "Lord Elrond has helped us immensely on our journey. Gandalf trusts him, and after lengthy consideration and examination, so do I." Dwalin, if anything, was even more affronted. "You spoke with him over dinner! That is not a 'lengthy examination'! And besides, would you really trust the wizard's judgement with the key to our success?" Honestly. Thorin had though Dwalin to be above this sort of thing, this petty difference between races. What was the division of height and hair, of stars and gems, when compared to the never-ending darkness of death? "And what would you trust instead? The age-old enmity between races, begun so long ago, we no longer remember exactly what caused it in the first place? Our luck? The very slight possibility that there is, in fact, nothing else on this map? Would you risk finding some secret instruction for your prejudices?" Dwalin leaned back slightly, looking at Thorin with complete disbelief. Then, in a low voice, he said, "Thorin, what in Mahal's name has happened to you?" The statement send a shock of fear through Thorin.

"I'm sure that I don't know what you mean." He stood abruptly. "I will be showing the map to Lord Elrond. That is the end of it." And then he stalked out of Dwalin's chambers, slamming the door behind him. He stormed to his rooms, locking the door once he found them. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a long, steadying breath. What in Mahal's name had happened to him? He could remember a time when he would have been appaled by his own actions, but that person now seemed to be as separate from him as if an ocean lay between them. He could no longer understand the proud, diligent prince who set out to re-claim his homeland, or his intolerance of other races, his need to be separate from the rest of the company, his short temper and fierce scowls. Maybe the question wasn't so much what had happened to him; maybe it was why didn't it happen sooner.

It was as a far more collected and steadfast king who walked into the great library of Rivendell. "Lord Elrond. Master Baggins. Gandalf. Good evening." They all looked up, nodding. "And good evening to you, Thorin son of Thrain." Elrond flashed one of his rare smiles. "Now, Gandalf tells me you have an artifact you would like examined." Thorin nodded. "A map, to be precise. He handed it over to Elrond, just as Balin walked into the room. He froze, eyes widening at the sight of the map in Elrond's hands, then cast his gaze upon Thorin. He did his best not to squirm. He had long since graduated from Balin's mentorship. "I see I am late." Gandalf hastily shrugged, gaze flicking between Balin and Lord Elrond. "We were not sure that you would come."

Balin snorted, walking forward and taking his place at Thorin's side. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." Elrond nodded, and Gandalf looked relieved. "Very well then, let us get on with it." Elrond held the map up to the light, examining it carefully. "Erebor." His gaze narrowed, but did not waver. "What is your interest in this map?" Thorin was just opening his mouth to give an excuse when Gandalf interupted. "It's mainly academic." He shot Thorin a glare. Elrond gave a curt nod, then leaned even closer to the map's surface. "Cirth Ithil." Balin's brow furrowed in confusion, but Thorin knew what the words meant, and unconsciously mouthed them when Gandalf said, "Moon Runes." He then shot an almost apologetic look at them. "An easy thing to miss." Elrond nodded. "Well in this case, that is true; moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written."

Thorin nodded. "Can you read them?" Elrond nodded, still absorbed. "These runes were written on a Midsummer's Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield; the same moon shines upon us tonight." He led them out onto a balcony under a waterfall, with a single crystal pedestal upon it. Thorin took a few moments to simply appreciate the natural beauty of the place. As the moonlight shone down, silver lettering began to appear upon the paper. Now that he though back to it, Thorin remembered a pen with a richly engraved silver nub that had belonged to his grandfather, and wondered if it was the same that had inscribed these letters.

Elrond read the inscription aloud, brow furrowing as he deciphered the text. "Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the last light with the setting of the sun on Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole." Thorin's mouth set itself in grim line. If he did not know differently, he would be very worried about the company managing to reach Erebor in time. Balin had lost his sense of reproach for Elrond, and now his face was lighting up. "We still have time. Thorin, do your realize what this means?" He turned to Thorin, smile splitting across his face. "We have a way in. we just need to be in exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time."

It was only then that Elrond's face truly clouded. "So this is your purpose. To enter the mountain." Oh, if only it were that simple. "Yes." Elrond's frown deepened. It was interesting how, out of all the elves Thorin had ever met, the one who showed his emotions the most freely was the wisest, and the one who hid them best the most callous. "There are some who would not deem such a course wise." Thorin shrugged. "Are you one of those persons?" Elrond simply handed the map back wordlessly. Then, surprisingly, as Thorin took the map, he grabbed his hands, leveling a piercing gaze at the darven king. "Be careful, Thorin son of Thrain. There are many guardians over Middle Earth," And here he shot Gandalf a pointed look, "But no one but yourself can preserve your own life. You have a legacy, a people, a life. Take care that you do not use them recklessly. And, as well, even if you had nothing but the clothes upon your back, nothing to show your worth, your life would still be among the most precious in Middle Earth." Thorin could only nod, thunderstruck by the elf's words. There was a part of him that wanted to smack the look of concern on Elrond's face and pure, unmitigated shock on Balin's straight off. Then, there was a part of him that simply wanted to walk back to his rooms, lock the door, and cry.

Thankfully, he had the chance to do neither, as Lord Elrond, upon releasing his hands, said, "Also, If you are willing, I would like to take this opportunity to invite you to a meeting of The White Council."

Author's note: I am so, so sorry for the wait for this chapter. There was school, and FBLA, and writing just sort of never happened, I'm back, and should be updating regularly again. Also, so far this has been unbetaed, but I really think it could improve with some editing. If anyone wants to, please PM me.


	8. Chapter 8

Alright, Bilbo had to admit to himself, when he had wondered whether or not he could make some change in the course of events, he had not envisioned himself hiding behind a pillar doing his best to catch everything that was being said by a certain group of elves, wizards, and now one dwarf. It didn't help that he had to crouch precariously to align his body with the climbing flowers and flowing pattern of the effigy's dress, and he loved the Lady Galadriel with all of his heart, but heavens to betsy she talked so _slowly_.

And it wasn't just that. She paced while she talked, walking gracefully around the table that Elrond, Thorin, Gandalf, and Saruman were sitting at. He had thought he saw her gaze rest upon him for a few moments, but he could have been mistaken. The others were certainly far to caught up in thier discussion to care.

"Tell me, Thorin, son of Thrain. Did you truly think, for a single moment, that your plans and schemes would go unoticed?" Thorin held his head high, his entire being practically screaming dignity. "I did not know that the plans I made would be of such importance to so powerful and important a wizard. Tell me, is it simply that you have nothing better to do with your time then harass a small group of dwarrows who mean no harm to anyone, or do you truly believe we have such a great chance of slaying the beast as to be worthy of your attention?" Bilbo's chest could've burst with pride. And they said that he was a sly talker! Saruman leaned back, considering his words carefully under the heavy gaze of Elrond and the Lady Galadriel.

"You are mistaken, if you think you have any semblance of a chance of slaying Smaug. I would rather you had come to me, rather than Mithrandir, so that I could've spared you such disappointment. As for my interest, you are the crown prince of Erebor, and until your father is found, you are the active king. Tell me, do you truly think that this fool's errand is so important that you would risk laying the heavy burden of leadership upon your sister's shoulders for the rest of her life? Or one of you nephews, that is, i _f_ they survive your little escapade. A dragon is a mighty foe, and I would not see the line of Durin broken."

Thorin looked as if someone had slapped him across the face. Bilbo tried to lower himself to the floor as quietly as possible, as he didn't think he knees could hold up under the weight of his memories; two corpses: blond and brunet, twin blades, blood-soaked and broken, and a elven maiden crying under the stars.

"I see no reason why you should doubt any of my company. They are brave and loyal; they are whole and hale. I have every confidence in them slaying the beast. I am sure I have no idea where you would get the idea that I am suicidal, and that I would wish to risk harming my closest kin for a hopeless vision."

Thorin's voice was as unwavering as iron, as cold as ice. Bilbo knew that Saruman would rue the day he doubted Thorin Oakenshield. He could roar and yell with the best of them, however, you could tell how angry he was not by the volume of his voice, but by its coolness.

"We are no longer a struggling people. We have pulled ourselves from the pit of misery and hopelessness that Smaug thrust us into; now we have the strength at last to fight back. We will re-take the halls of our fathers, with or without anyone else's help. Long have the dwarves been accustomed to hardship. You may watch us, and should we fail, then I have no doubt you will find satisfaction in our deaths. But should we succeed, one of Middle Earth's mightiest kingdoms will rise once again. What reason do you have to stand in our way? You have everything to gain in our winning, and nothing to lose in our loss."

Thorin drew himself up, his lack of height doing nothing to impede the might and dignity that was radiating off him. It made Bilbo even more glad that he had sat down when he could.

"Strength? Master dwarf, if thirteen dwarves and Gandalf the Grey are all you can call upon in this hour of 'triumph', then I very much doubt your sense of strength..."

"And a burglar."

Saruman raised an eyebrow. He looked at Thorin as if he was a petulant schoolchild who had just asked for the twentieth time when lunch was. "What?"

"You forget one of our number. I have a hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, who specializes in burglary and is in my employment."

For a few moments, Saruman just stared a Thorin, slack-jawed. Then he threw back his head and laughed, long and hard. When he finally stopped, wiping away tears of mirth, Thorin's mouth was twitching and the armrest he had been gripping appeared to have snapped, Lord Elrond was trying his best to look at anything other than the others around him, Gandalf practically had smoke coming out of his ears, and the Lady Galadriel stared at him, otherwise smooth face wide-eyed.

"A burglar! A halfling! Oh, indeed, that makes all of the difference in the world! Tell me, Thorin, son of Thrain, when Mithrandir petitioned you, how much mead had you consumed, exactly?" He laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I had though this quest the height of foolishness, but now I see that it is far, far worse. This is madness, Thorin. Plain and simple." He rose from his seat, walking over to Thorin and placing a hand on his shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture. Bilbo heard the other armrest snap, but Saruman didn't seem to notice.

"I will aid you in your journey back to The Blue Mountains, as it seems some wizards do not know good sense from dithering fancies and impractical daydreams..."

Thorin closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was about to crush Saruman with his bare fists. But, when he opened his eyes, they were not filled with passion. There was a fire in that gaze that burned steady and strong, not wild and fearsome. When he spoke, it was with the force of a mountain, words grinding down upon all who listened, the picture of control and power. "Do not speak to me of madness, or dreams. You know nothing of the world if you think so little of virtues such as bravery and loyalty. I would take every member of my company over an entire army of wizards such as you, if that is truly what you believe! Now listen to me, and listen well, Saruman." He rose from his seat, Elrond's face turning pale and Gandalf reaching out, but he made no effort to strike him.

" _You. Have. No. power. Over. ME._ Nothing does! I am by own dwarf, and by Mahal, I am going to do what I was born to do! I am going to lead my people out of their misery, out of the hell that they have had to live through every single forsaken day since we were forced out of our homeland! I know for a fact that re-taking Erebor is within our grasp, and I would ask that all you do is simply stand back and let us claim what is rightfully ours!" Thorin stood there, giving Saruman a glare so venomous it could've killed a lesser being.

The wizard's eyebrows rose, his mouth twisting into a sneer. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, the Lady Galadriel rested a hand lightly upon his shoulder, words settling as calm and soothing as the ocean.

"What King Thorin says is true, Saruman. If he wishes to re-claim his homeland, we have no right to stop him." She turned to Thorin, barely moving, yet her entire being seemed to be focused on him. His eyes widened, then he gave a slow, deep bow.

"My greatest thanks, and humblest apologies to The Lady of The Golden Wood. I can only pray that I may meet others as collected and supportive as yourself." With that he turned to Gandalf and Elrond, bowed, and then excused himself from the meeting.

Bilbo would've stayed then, to be able to catch Thorin up on what happened in his absence, but at that moment her gaze fell upon his hiding spot. He froze.

 _ **"And you, little one. It would be best if you did not hear what Mithrandir has come to impart upon us. May your journey be blessed, wherever it may lead, and may you find happiness at the road's end!"**_

Bilbo did his best to muffle the gasp that escaped his lips. It was as if a cool stream of water was trickling through his mind; if he wanted to, he could almost imagine the words were his own. But they held a weight and power far above the capacities of any hobbit to produce. When he turned to sneak a glance at The Lady Galadriel, she was facing the others, but a small smile touched the corners of her lips.

 _ **"Go!"**_

He carefully got up from his hiding spot, leaving The Council and following the steady echo of hob-nailed boots*.

Thorin felt as if he had just been mauled by a Warg. Which, he knew from experience, was just as painful, but at least you could go to Óin and he would help mend your wounds. Now, there was no one who could help to soothe his troubled mind. He couldn't believe he had just yelled at one of the most powerful beings in Middle Earth. True, he was soon to turn into a greedy, monstrous traitor who deserved the worst kind of death imaginable...

 _And who ripped apart The Shire. Stole it's inhabitant's innocence and bled them dry, the filthy, dirty, son of a..._

He stopped himself outside of his chamber door, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers and breathing deeply. None of that had come to pass yet. And, if he had any say in it, it never would. He was just trying to cover up the bone-deep despair he felt when Saruman had mentioned his nephews falling in battle, his kin following a mad leader for some insane, power hungry venture. He knew that this quest was nothing like that; it was a noble mission, a chance to re-claim their homeland and build a new life for his people. But still...

"Oh dear, you're doing it again, aren't you?"

Thorin nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around to see Bilbo leaning against the wall, smiling exasperatedly.

"Doing what?"

It was all he could do to respond sensibly; he and Bilbo would really have to talk about the hobbit's tendency to simply pop up out of no where. He, unlike his burglar*, had no questions as to whether Bilbo would be alright without the use of The Ring during their escapades; whether or not he had the ability back then, he was as quiet and unnoticeable as a shadow now.

"Brooding over something you think is your fault, or you think you should've done something about, or something that if you had sneezed the right way you may have possibly prevented. It's driving me up the wall, and frankly I don't think it's good for you."

Thorin groaned, slamming his forehead against the wood of his bedroom door.

"You criticizing it is not doing anything to help."

Bilbo's gaze softened, and he reached out and lay a small hand upon one of Thorin's arms.

"Well, then, let's go inside and talk about it. I'm afraid I can't make any tea without going all the way down to the kitchens, but you really don't mind that anyway, do you?"

Thorin simply nodded, then with a sigh he pushed open the door.

"Come inside. I take it you were eavesdropping on the entire thing?"

Bilbo huffed as he stepped inside.

"I do not 'eavesdrop' I simply hear what I need to hear, and know what I need to know. I can't see anything wrong with that."

Thorin chuckled as he collapsed into an armchair with a groan, gesturing to the stool by his patio.

"I'm afraid I don't have any other chairs save for that one, unless you care to sit on the bed. And I am not criticizing you; I am very glad you are so talented in acquiring information." It may have been his imagination, but as Bilbo walked over to get the stool Thorin thought he saw the tips of his ears turn pink. How odd.

"The stool will do fine; I've sat on similar ones when my joints were in a much worse state than they are now."

He brought the seat over by Thorin's armchair, sitting himself down, then leaned forward intently.

"So, what has you worked up into such a state?"

Thorin looked at Bilbo incredulously.

"After that meeting? Would you like me to list the reasons? We would be here all night if I imparted all of my troubles upon you."

Bilbo shook his head, soft curls bouncing gently.

"I saw how you reacted after Saruman mentioned Fíli and Kíli. I have to admit, it gave me quite a turn as well. But you shouldn't listen to him. Things... well, it's like you said, we have to have faith that it's possible for things to change. We've been through all of this before, and we're older now, more experienced. We can handle whatever this life has to throw at us. I'm less worried about The Battle Of The Five Armies, and more worried about your mental state."

Thorin tensed. Of course that would be brought up. Truth be told, he had been worrying about it since he first came back. He had many fears, now, but none so great as the ones for his sanity. What would they do once they reached the mountain? Could he trust himself to even enter the threshold without succumbing to the curse of his line?

Suddenly, he was aware of a warm weight on his shoulder. He looked up, to see a pair of concerned hazel eyes staring into his.

"I don't want this to end, and you to be so haunted by all you've seen. You have to remember to live, Thorin, really live. You need to have faith that everything will turn out alright, and remember to enjoy the little wonders this world has to offer. That's what we're really fighting for, Thorin. For those little things that make people smile; for the hope that one day, we can see even more of the sun."

And, for the second time, Thorin had to do his best to suppress the wave of shock that rolled over him as Bilbo wrapped his arms around him, enveloping him in a soft embrace.

~ Gandalf watched with relief as Thorin left The White Council. In all honesty he had not anticipated Elrond inviting him, and was thankful that he would remain ignorant of this potential threat for a while longer. It would not do to have him bear even more cares and secrets.

Saruman shook his head as he sat down, his disdain melting into pity.

"Tell me, Gandalf, what good will it do to send these dwarrows to their doom? I fear your schemes may bring about some great calamity yet."

He took a deep breath, maintaining his calm. Saruman was his superior, and he should show him the respect his position entitled.

"I do not think they are going to their doom. If Thorin is any example, you can certainly see that they are a very dignified and capable lot. They have every chance of re-taking the mountain. Saruman,"

He leaned closer, watching as the others studied his gaze.

"Long has Smaug's danger burdened my mind. Think of how powerful an ally he would be, should some dark power return to Arda."

Saruman snorted, shaking his head.

"It is as I feared. You have spent too long with your friend Radagast and the Shirelings. You have forgotten the ways of the world. I know who it is you fear; The Enemy. You should know as well as I that he was vanquished long ago, never to return to his full strength. There is only one thing that could bring about such a event, and it has been long lost. Unless,"

Gandalf couldn't be sure of anything, but the look in Sauron's eyes made him vaguely uneasy as he continued.

"The One Ring is ever found, I very much doubt we have anything to fear."

Had Gandalf been looking at their elven counterparts, he might have noticed The Lady Galadriel's eyes widen in disbelief, her eyes resting upon Lord Elrond. But the look went unnoticed, and Gandalf was none the wiser to anything that passed between them.

"Well, no of course that hasn't happened-"

"And never will."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, certain things have been brought to my attention that I think we should act upon. Trolls are coming down from the mountains. They are raiding villages, destroying farms. We were attacked by Orcs while upon the road!"

Saruman simply sighed.

"Always you must meddle, Gandalf, looking for trouble where none exists. I am beginning to wonder what exactly you are smoking in that pipe of yours..."

"Listen to him."

Saruman's eyes snapped to attention, fixing upon the Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. Both were as solemn as statues, fixed in their own elven worlds. Elrond leaned forward, interlacing his fingers upon the tabletop.

"Strange indeed it does seem, that such an unlikely event should occur. Strange, but all the more dangerous for it."

The Lady Galadriel stepped forward, placing the tips of her fingers upon Gandalf's shoulder.

"Show us what you have brought."

Without hesitation, he took a wrapped bundle and placed it upon the table. Strangely, he had the feeling that Elrond knew of the dark object within before he even opened it. Thrusting back the leather covering, He exposed the hilt of the fell blade. Dead silence fell upon the table.

If he hadn't known better, he would have thought he heard Elrond mutter under his breath, 'So it is true.'

"There is a dark power far greater than any dragon at work in the east. The Greenwood lies under some spell, and the woodsmen have taken to calling it 'Mirkwood' now. They say..."

Saruman raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, do go on. Tell us what the woodsmen say."

Gandalf took a deep breath, bracing himself to tell them.

"They speak of a sorcerer with the power to raise the dead; The Necromancer."

Elrond rose from his seat, before Saruman even had the chance to finish the word, "Absurd"

"We must act upon this new information. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the beginning of some dark and sinister plan."

The Lady Galadriel nodded, stepping closer to Elrond's side.

"I believe we should investigate the possibility. Come, we have much to prepare."

The two waked from the room, immediately descending into conversation, Sindarin dialects spoken so swiftly that even Saruman could not quite grasp their meaning.

~Meanwhile, Dwalin swung _Grasper_ with as much force as possible, ripping a chunk off the practice dummy he had made. He certainly hoped that no elf had liked that fúton too much.

"Something wrong, brother?"

He gave a non-commital growl, thrusting _Keeper_ deep into what was once the leg of a chair.

"Thorin's being a prick."

Balin sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm going to assume that by 'being a prick' you meant he is actually being courteous and respectful to our hosts."

Dwalin sighed, giving one of his daggers a half-hearted twirl before he sent it spinning into the trunk of a tree.

"It isn't just that. I don't know what it is, but he's been acting strange this whole trip. He doesn't keep off to himself as much, he's giving everybody weird stares when he thinks they won't notice, especially Fili and Kili, and I've seen him and the hobbit _looking_ at each other. In a strange, off, conspiratorial way. I dunno, maybe it's just me, but I think somethings up."

Balin raised an eyebrow.

"And I suppose that absolutely none of that is explainable? Dwalin, I don't know if you've noticed, but he is our leader. He's supposed to keep an eye on everyone. And I think we've all seen the glares he's sent in Bilbo's direction."

Dwalin shook his head.

"I'm not talking about the glares. I'm talking about the _looks_. The looks they give each other whenever something happens. It's like their fucking married or something."

Balin shrugged, walking forward to help Dwalin retrieve his weapons.

"I never thought I would ever have to say this to you, but you're letting your imagination carry you away. This is all speculation; Thorin is on a dangerous quest and acting nice to elves, and you're overthinking it and getting paranoid. Relax; in all honesty, I think during this quest he's been in the best mood I've seen him in since Erebor fell."

Dwalin gave another grunt.

"If he starts tryin' to write poetry, I'm kicking his ass."

Balin smiled.

"Oh, I don't know, writing poetry might suit him. He already plays the harp."

Dwalin whipped round, but Balin had already retreated to the corridor.

"It was an fucking dare! You tell anyone, and I'm going to rip your beard off!"

He rushed down the hallway, following the maddening sound of his brother's laughter.

Down in some bushes, a pair of dwarven princes waited until their elders were out of earshot.

"FÍli?"

"Yes?"

"Did you know that uncle Thorin played the harp?"


	9. Chapter 9

Thorin stepped out into the light of day, fortified by his confrontation with Saruman and the consolations of a certain hobbit. His company was re-visiting the fountain they had declared their private washtub; although there was very little 'washing ' going on, and a great deal of 'trying to drown others while riding them piggy-back'.

Well, let them enjoy it while they could. If his estimations were correct, they had missed the stone-giant's fight, and so they would have no cause to take refuge in that cave and be captured by goblins.

 _And Bilbo would never have to touch The One Ring ever again._

As the company gradually began to exit the water and begin the long and arduous process of drying and then re-braiding their hair, he leaned back and sighed contentedly. It was one of those rare moments in life when nothing was trying to kill, maim, or drive mad him and his kin, and he would milk it for all it was worth.

"Thorin. I would like a word."

Well, that hadn't lasted very long. He looked up in mild annoyance at Gandalf.

"Yes, no doubt you would. I, however, would like the chance to relax and let the big grown-up wizards and elves take care of everything for a change."

Mahal, had he actually been _sarcastic?_ Maybe he did need some help. Gandalf's brow furrowed in suspicion, but he made no comment.

"You have made a powerful enemy. I do wish that Elrond had consulted me first, before inviting you to The White Council."

Thorin shrugged.

"Did I really anger him? I would have thought an exiled dwarven king would be too far beneath his notice for him to be so affected. I will have to make a note to treat him with much more care in the future."

Gandalf huffed exhasperatedly.

"Save me from the thick skulls of dwarves! Thorin, you and your company must leave as soon as possible. Saruman will do everything in his power to prevent you from going on this quest."

Thorin frowned.

"But, as I have said before, why does he care so? Why is any of this-"

he gestured vaugely with his hand to where Nori was riding Dwalin piggy-back.

"-his concern?"

Gandalf shook his head, frown deepening and twiddling his fingers behind his back. Was is Thorin's imagination or was the wizard... _nervous?_

"In all honesty, Thorin, I do not know. What I do know is that Saruman is not a person to be trifled with, and you must all get out of his arm's reach before he makes some move to prevent you. I will come with you, and we can slip out under the cover of dark; Lord Elrond has graciously given your quest his blessing, and will aid us as much as he can. You must tell your company to gather their belongings and meet at the eastern gate some time around midnight; I know a side-path that will lead us safely through the mountains."

 _The rain is driving down hard. At this altitude, Thorin is surprised that it isn't snow. He can barely see two feet in front of his face, much less keep a eye on the company, and it makes him nervous. The halfling has already tumbled once; who will be next?_

 _Suddenly, a boulder huge enough to be seen even with the torrential downpour comes hurling through the air, crashing into the cliff face just above them. Balin pushes back his hood a bit, squinting his eyes in disbelief._

" _This is no thunder-storm! It's a thunder battle!"_

 _A huge, menacing shape appears out of the blurred darkness, towering high above them. Bofur steps closer to the edge of the path, mouth open in awe._

" _Well, bless me, the legends are true! Giants! STONE GIANTS!"_

 _It lobbs another gargantuan boulder into the air, hitting a blurred (But still intimidating) shape behind them. At this rate, they'll never survive the night._

" _Get Back!"_

 _Someone hears him and pulls Bofur from his precarious position. In the darkness and rain, he can't even tell who. Then, as if Mahal himself had decided to simply wipe them off the face of the earth, the very path spits beneath their feet, breaking in two as they look up to discover that they are upon the knees of one of the monstrous creatures..._

 _Oh_

"A side path?"

Thorin felt fairly queasy; he had been so focused on missing the battle, he hadn't stopped to think on the consequences that he might incurr.

"Oh, yes, far safer than the route over Caradhras. At this time of year it's impassible, what with all the snow it gets." _._

"Indeed... Gandalf, tell me, how long has this path existed?"

The wizard cocks his head, raising an eyebrow and suspicious squint narrowing even more.

"Well, I daresay I don't know, but certainly not for very long, seeing as how the goblins have not discovered and laid some trap upon it. You needn't worry, Thorin; it is perfectly safe."

What were the chances that the path was still stable? No, wrong question. What were the chances the path still _existed_? And how in Durin's name had anyone managed to carve a path on the knees of a Stone-Giant anyhow?

"You say that you would prefer this path to the route over Caradhras?"

Gandalf nodded.

"Yes, as I said before, the main road is very unsafe. The goblin's have the entryway to their kingdom there; they used to catch quite a few travelers who would look for a nice cave or overhang to shelter in, and then would be snatched up in the night. If you want to avoid the goblins, this path is your best option."

Thorin really needed something to be sick in. For a few moments, he briefly considered running over to Bofur and emptying the contents of his stomach in his hat, but decided against it. Instead, he fought down his steadily mounting dread and self-loathing, trying his best to focus on the problem at hand. One of his plans had backfired drastically, and now he was in a situation with no foreseeable solution without risk of revealing his secrets and humiliating himself. There was only one thing for it. He needed to go ask Bilbo.

~~ Bilbo leaned back against the tree's trunk with a sigh. Petals from one of the numerous cherry possum trees fell gently, and if he hadn't known any better, he would have said that it was a perfectly peaceful, beautiful day in The Valley of Imladris. Only the hushed voices of Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond gave away just how tense the atmosphere truly was.

‹" _So, you truly believe the hobbit?"_ _›_

The Lady Galadriel was standing languorously by the side of a bird bath, fingers delicately tapping it's surface. The ripples she caused radiated outwards gracefully, gradually growing smaller and smaller until they barely even disturbed the sparrows sitting along the water's edge.

‹" _Indeed. There was no deceit in his eyes. And he bears the mark of some great power... I have never seen anything like it in my lifetime. The only thing that comes close are the tales of old, when the world was still young and the twin lamps aflame."›_

Elrond's true disposition was more obvious; he twisted his hands behind his back, and his gaze had taken on a piercing, almost furtive edge.

‹" _I believe you. Yet this is ill news. I can hardly imagine such a catastrophe coming to pass, all hope set on a knife's edge. It may have been better had we known nothing, and everything gone about as it did before."›_

A petal landed on the surface of the water, disrupting Galadriel's gentle taps and creating it's own array of tiny waves. One of the sparrows chirruped once, and then flew off.

‹" _Yet here we are, and with this knowledge in hand I would be loath to stand by and do nothing. I say we apprehend The Necromancer."_ _›_

Elrond frowned.

‹" _Yes, I believe that goes without saying, but do you not think that Sauron should have some priority? We have a great opportunity to destroy him, once and for all, before he even re-gains his strength."_ _›_

Galadriel turned, raising an eyebrow.

‹" _You mean to say destroy the Ring. For I fear not even now would you challenge him in combat, and asking Saruman for aid could prove disastrous if he has already turned."_ _›_

Elrond bowed his head.

‹" _Those were my thoughts exactly."›_

Galadriel sighed, and for a few moments her entire expression was consumed with such piercing grief it cut Bilbo to the very core.

‹" _A clever, easy plan. Yet I think we should both know by now that nothing is ever so simple. Should we destroy The One Ring now, I fear it would do little to help us."›_

Elrond's frown deepened.

‹" _Explain what you mean. Surely, if we destroyed The Ring, Sauron would be destroyed as well?"›_

‹" _Nay. You forget, in that past world, Sauron rose and made war on Middle Earth all without the aid of The Ring. He did not even know it was still within his power to use until he had already aquired great strength; all plans and moves he made before then were solely without it's use. It is only pure luck that he found out about The Ring's existence, and once again bound himself to it's power; for he was greedy, and thought to enhance his might. But it was his downfall, for by reaching out to The Ring and investing his power in it once again, it meant that when The Ring was destroyed, he too suffered greatly, perishing without it's help. If we were to destroy it now, he would still rise, though his power would be diminished, and we would have nothing with which to ensnare and destroy him."›_

Bilbo buried his face in his hands, too far past grief to even moan in despair. Sometimes it seemed as if he was only a little thing, and the entire universe was bent on taking his every decision and turning it against him and the ones he loved.

Well, not for much longer, it wouldn't. He thought about his own personal agenda with renewed determination and vigor. Sometimes a hobbit simply had to do what a hobbit had to do.

There was no point in listening to the conversation any longer. Though the soft Sindarin whispers continued, he snuck away quickly. There was nothing more he wished to hear.

~ Thorin carefully checked each corridor, wondering where on earth a hobbit would go if he were visiting a magical elven home. He quietly checked several corridors, before almost walking into the hobbit head first. Bilbo looked up at him, expression unreadable, but his face was almost instantly overcome with concern.

"What is it?"

Thorin shook his head, expression solemn.

"We need to have at talk."

Bilbo's eyes flitted across their surroundings.

"Indeed. Here; this should serve nicely."

Bilbo turned abruptly, opening the door to a room on their right. When Thorin walked into the room, he noticed that there were a great number of books on the shelves, and a solid oaken desk in the very center of several stacks.

"Good lord, you would think that this was a pigsty; I hope I get the chance to clean it again some time."

Bilbo immediately pushed aside some of the stacks of paper littering the chairs, and straightened a few stacks of books, tutting and shaking his head.

"You know this room?"

He nodded, giving up on his attempts to dust with his shirt sleeve.

"This was my study. It's a very nice room, when it's cleaned; easy access to the gardens and kitchen, not to mention out of the way. Now, you seem to have something to tell me. What's happened?"

Thorin drew a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Well, you know the side path that we used when traveling across the misty mountains?"

Bilbo nodded.

"It would be difficult to forget."

"Well, there is something that we overlooked. I take it you also remember that it was situated on the knees of a Stone Giant, who fell during a battle that night in the rain."

Bilbo's eyes widened as he realized the implications.

"We have no way to cross the misty mountains."

Thorin shook his head.

"We do have a way. We cannot go through the mountains, and we cannot go above them; we must go under them."

Bilbo's reaction was immediate. He paled, jumping forward and placing his hand on Thorin's arm.

"We can't! You know what happens in Moria! I told you what _lives_ there!"

Thorin nodded solemnly.

"Indeed. Still, you said that Gandalf knows the way. It is our only option; the path we once took is gone, and Carahdras is impassable. If we are careful, and avoid knocking any of our dead kinsman into wells, we should be fine."

Bilbo looked as if he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"Fine?! Fine?! Thorin, what about hordes of orcs and a flaming _Balrog_ sounds _fine?!_ And besides, that's where... well that's where Balin and Ori met their end. Don't you think it's bad luck to go through there?"

Thorin shook his head.

"It is the only way. I am no superstitious dwarrow. Even if I was, what do I have to fear with luck-wearer at my side?"

Bilbo opened his mouth, as if on the verge of saying something, then abruptly snapped it shut.

"Is it truly the only way?"

Thorin nodded, and Bilbo groaned, shaking his head.

"I suppose it's like my mother used to say; 'Ever does necessity make mockery of our plans.'"

He stepped forward a bit, placing his hand on Thorin's arm.

"Well, then, let's get on with this. I do believe that Gandalf said we should be leaving soon, and I quite agree with him."

Thorin nodded. For some reason, it felt as if a weight he had not even realized he was carrying had grown considerably smaller.

So, he followed Bilbo out of the cluttered study, ready to help his kinsmen prepare for the oncoming journey. They would certainly need as much preparation as possible.


	10. Chapter 10

Elrond watched with apprehension as the dwarves packed their things, unaware that he knew of their movements. He turned his gaze to Mithrandír.

"Are you sure that this is wise? Only once have you trod that path before, and even then I knew of your struggle. You know what lives there, and that it bears no good-will towards any dwarf."

Mithrandír sighed, shoulders slumped under the weight of far too many cares and resonsibilities.

"If it were my choice, I would not wish it. Yet there are many things I do not wish for, this least among them. Should we choose any other path, I fear we may never reach our destination. Thorin has some sense; I trust him in this. And I trust your foresight; you have my thanks for warning us of the destruction of our intended path."

Elrond nodded. It had not been wholly dishonest; when the stone giants stirred, he had sensed it, and they formed malicious shadows in his dreams, which then caught fire and converged to form a single, livid eye.

"I thank you for your gratitude. Know that you have my blessing in this foray. As well,"

And here, despite his inherent elven solemnity, the very tips of his mouth quirked.

"As the favor of the Lady. She bids you well, and prays that you visit her in Lothlorien should you leave Khazad-Dûm by gateway near The Dimrill Dale."

Gandalf made a noise that was somewhere between clearing his throat and harrumphing indignantly, that only served to highlight the slight blush that was creeping up from his beard.

"Indeed. I believe I shall."

~ Bilbo hefted his pack, wishing not for the last time that he could have brought back all the lean muscle he had earned on the last trip with him. It seemed as though over their short stay he had already managed to lose what little he had built up, and he did not relish the thought of sleeping in a bedroll on hard ground that night.

Still, he had to admit he would not miss Rivendell as much as he might have thought. It had been his home for a good many years, and seeing it again was lovely, but it felt... incomplete, somehow. Th way The Shire had felt when he first returned to it all those years ago. As if everything was the same as he had left it, but _he_ was no the hobbit he had once been. He doubted that he would ever call the place home again.

"Master Baggins; I suggest you keep up."

Bilbo looked back at Thorin slightly sheepishly. He hadn't really meant to stop and stare; it had just sort of happened...

" _As many things are bound to happen."_

 _Elrond's face betrayed no deceit, his features set and eyes grim._

" _They can be changed, of course; but effort is required. And sometimes, a price. The best option is to always be mindful; watch yourself, and what happens around you."_

Bilbo shook his head, then turned to follow the path after Thorin and the rest of the company. They climbed slowly but steadily up the precarious ledge. Why was it that elves seemed so adverse to railings?

As they climbed, he slowly felt the air shifting, the power and magic of Rivendell fading away the farther and farther they went, replaced with a sense of wholesome wildness. It was obvious that the dwarves felt it too; their shoulders gradually straightened, as if they had been hunching forward for some time without even realizing it, and their manner became more relaxed and comfortable.

As the company gradually re-gained their rowdy atmosphere, Bilbo felt his own spirits rise. It felt good to be on the road, and it felt good to be traveling and joking with his dwarves; he could almost forget the horrid destination that they were heading towards.

Thorin kept on glancing backwards, checking and re-checking the company. They were just leaving an elven stronghold, so he felt justified in his sense of slight paranoia. Or it could just be that they were heading towards an ancient dwarven stronghold that had cost his people thousands of lives trying to re-claim, and that he knew three of his companions were destined to die in during yet another fruitless effort to return to their ancestral home.

Balin glanced up at him.

"Something wrong?"

He shook his head, gesturing for the older dwarf to move ahead of him.

"No. At least not yet."

Balin sighed, shaking his head.

"Ye shouldn't be so worried. If anything, I'm glad we have the chance to take this path. Think of it, Thorin; the great pillars of Mazarbûl, standing tall against the ages."

Thorin could only nod, the pit of his stomach twisting at the thought of what would be lost, should he not interfere. It seemed dwarves were forever destined to be driven from their homes, finding naught but death and sorrow where there should have been family and home.

"Still, I would not choose this path willingly. Gandalf himself fears it's course. There will be no joy in my heart at the sight of those halls, no matter how majestic."

Balin only smiled.

"We'll see. It's our home, Thorin. You can't stop yourself from appreciating it."

'And that, Balin,' thought Thorin as he nodded, following after his friend and mentor, 'Is exactly the problem.'

~When the two hollies that marked the front gate of Moria came into sight, it was all that Bilbo could do to suppress a shiver. The trees were beautiful, there was nothing at all wrong with them; yet he thought he could feel the temperature of the air lower as the company crossed The Sirannon. Gandalf, when he lay eyes upon the pillars of red and green, gave a slow, defeated sigh.

"Here are the two holly trees which mark the end of the old realm of Hollin. In the olden days there was a great deal of trade between dwarves and elves; but the dwarves were driven from Moria, and the elves went west over the sea a long, long time ago. We shall stop here; for they also mark the location of the gateway."

Ori, who had his notebook and pen pulled out, began scribbling frantically. He only paused for a moment, looking at the stone wall with an expression of awe.

"It's so majestic..."

Nori snorted.

"Ye can't even see the thing, Ori. Wait till we get to Erebor; now _there's_ some majestic gates. Giant statues and everything."

Ori just rolled his eyes, then continued his note-taking. Bilbo stepped up to Gandalf, who was murmuring under his breath and looking at the stone wall very intently. Suddenly, thin, silver script appeared on the barren stone, shining with it's own ethereal light in the evening darkness. Balin traced the writing with his fingers reverently.

"This is where the gateway is located, correct?"

Gandalf nodded.

"What does the engraving say?"

"Nothing of importance to us. It says only, _'The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'_ "

Right, there it was. He could remember Frodo telling him about his won travels, about the riddle the writing upon the gateway into Moria contained. He stepped up a little closer to the wall, examining the writing. He knew Sindarin text fairly well, and sure enough, there were no mistakes in Gandalf's translation.

It was strange, how he had taken step after step on this journey, traversing the exact same paths as he had a lifetime ago, and yet this moment was the one that truly brought memories flooding back. His thoughts flew to a dark cavern, a pale, slimy creature, and riddles. So, so many riddles, uttered in the dark, with fear pounding through his veins.

He took a deep breath. Than another one. He ran his fingers over to letters, the letters that guarded a tomb. Suddenly, his eyes flew open. Well, it looked like he wasn't getting rusty after all.

He sidled over the where Gandalf was sitting and muttering to himself, brows furrowed in concentration. This had to be handled delicately; he couldn't just tell him the password.

"So, that's Sindarin? The script?"

Gandalf nodded absentmindedly.

"I don't think I recognize some of these words. I have learned some, mostly from my mother; she loved elves. Do you think you could tell me what these particular symbols say?"

He pointed to the word. Gandalf gave him a look that was half annoyed, half fond.

"That is the Sindarin word for 'friend'."

"Which would be?"

The look Gandalf gave him next was a bit more quizzical.

"Mellon."

Suddenly, there was a great moaning from the doors, as they slowly swung outwards, startling the rest of the company. Everybody stared at the opening, wide eyed, as they took in the near solid and neverending darkness of Moria. Their eyes shifted to Gandalf, who only looked confused for a moment before chuckling and picking up his staff.

"It was a riddle; the words 'speak, friend, and enter' were not meant to ask a friend to say the password; they were meant to tell us that if we wanted to enter, we need only speak the Sindarin word for 'friend.'"

Dori looked him up and down appraisingly, before nodding and crossing his arms.

"Knew it would be a good idea to bring along a wizard."

~When the gateway swung open, and he felt the cool, ancient air come seeping out of Khazad dûm, it took Thorin's breath away. He almost wished that it didn't. It was just like returning to Erebor for the first time; joy in returning to his ancestral home was soured by the stench of death and ruin. Although it was a three day trip too The Dimrill Dale, where Azanulbizar had been fought, he thought he could still smell smoke from the funeral pyres.

"Let us make haste. We have a long way to go until we reach the eastern gate; and from there longer still until we can find a place to safely cross Mirkwood."

He stepped through the entrance cautiously, hackles on edge.

"Gandalf. Give us a little light. You know these paths; lead the way."

~Thorin could hardly see in the darkness. It was like a living thing, thick and suffocating. Being uncomfortable when underground was a foreign feeling for him; even in the goblin tunnels, being surrounded by stone had made fighting the monsters off just a bit more easy. Now, however, Gandalf's magic torch was the only source of light, so that even his dwarvish eyes could see little in the darkness. The weight of the mountain handging over their heads made him tense, rather than at ease. Still, it seemed that there were at least a few of the company who felt very differently about being here than he did.

"Such sturdy supports so deep underground! It must have taken ages to build!"

Oin had taken to trailing his fingers along the walls of the narrower corridors that they traveled through. He claimed that it was because his old eyes couldn't see Gandalf's light very well, but it would appear he could see well enough to examine some of the ancient carvings that decorated the hallways. Every once in a while he would mutter something to Ori, who would quickly write it down in his journal.

Thorin had to admit, he knew where they were coming from. Khazad Dûm's entire architectural structure was like something out of legend. He wished that they could light the integrated gas lamps that were peppered throughout the place, to see what it must have truly been like all those ages ago. Still, even he could not be so foolish. Even when Oin and Ori spoke to one another animatedly, it was with hushed voices, as if they were creeping along like thieves in the night. Everyone knew something was in here with them; whether orcs, goblins, or Durin's bane, none of them wanted to find out.

So on they went, slowly and quietly, Creeping through the dark. Finally, after Thorin didn't know how many hours, Bofur was the one who managed to speak in anything louder than a whisper.

"I dunno 'bout the rest of you, but I think it must be nearly dark outside by now. What does everyone say 'bout hitting the hay?"

There was a murmured assent from the rest of the company, and they all began to gradually set down their bedding and lay down. It was obvious though, from the lack of snores, that when Thorin called for them to march on six hours later, nobody had slept a wink.

Bilbo opened his eyes. Closed them. Opened them again. He felt as if he were sleeping on his feet, which, considering how little sleep he had been getting lately, probably wasn't too far from the truth. Not that anybody else was much better. The only thing disguising the bruises under their eyes was the accursed, ever present darkness.

Suddenly, Gandalf stopped. Everybody crowded around his staff, trying to see what had pulled him to a halt. Just in front of them, the pathway split into three, each one leading in a completely different direction.

"I have no memory of this place."

Well, on the bright side, thirteen dwarves panicking in a very spatially limited area wasn't _that_ claustrophobic.

"What do you mean you don't remember this place!"

"Didn't ye come by this way before?!"

"We're not going back. I can't walk through there again, I just can't."

"Silence!"

All eyes turned to Gandalf, who looked possibly more frustrated than all of the dwarves combined.

"I have no memory of this place, _yet._ It is getting late anyway; I believe that here would be the opportune place to get some rest. I will take the first watch, and see if I can recall which pathway we must take."

With a great deal of grumbling and dragging of feet, the dwarves prepared to bed down. No one was looking forward to another sleepless night.

Thorin couldn't stand sitting still. The oppressiveness of his surroundings raised nearly every alarm in his warrior's body, and his mind would allow him no rest. At least he knew that the others had finally managed to drift off; it seemed that exhaustion took it's toll on even the most stalwart of dwarrows.

With a sigh, he buried his face in his hands. He took one deep breath. Then another. Then, he turned onto his side. Well, he would just have to toss and turn until Gandalf remembered the way out of this accursed place.

Suddenly, he felt a feather-light weight rest upon his shoulder. Warm breath met his ears, as a gentle voice whispered,

"Sleep. Sleep, Thorin; everything will be all right. Just let your eyes close, and your body relax."

A warm gust of breath ruffled his hair slightly, tickling his ears. With a sigh, he did as he was instructed, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander from it's more morbid paths. Because even when all of his senses seemed to tell him to stay awake, there was one little voice he trusted more than any of them.

Thorin awoke to a soft,

"Aha!"

He sat up straight, blearily wiping sleep from his eyes. He could see Gandalf standing in front of one of the doorways, triumph painted on all of his features.

"Come, now; the way out is this way."

Kili frowned drowsily, wincing as he worked out a kink in his neck.

"Have you remembered?"

Gandalf shook his head.

"No, but the air does not smell so foul this way. When in doubt, Kili, always follow your nose!"

He started walking down the passageway, everyone else following closely behind. Soon, though, Thorin could feel the walls falling away, as if they stood in an open chamber.

"Allow me to risk a little more light."

Gandalf's staff began to glow ever brighter, and before Thorin could think to admonish him, the company's gasps drew his attention. He looked around, seeing farther and better than he had in the past two days.

Oh.

"Behold the great realm and city of..."

"Dwarrowdelf."

Balin's mouth was hanging open, and he approached one of the many thick columns in the chamber reverently. They grew as thick and many as trees in a forest, stretching in orderly rows for as far as the eye could see.

Bilbo gave a long, low whistle.

"Well, now, there's an eye opener, and no mistake."


	11. Chapter 11

Khazad Dûm, even in ruins, was breathtaking.

As the company walked through Dwarrowdelf, Gloin was the one who noticed the glow of natural light coming from the open door of a side chamber. Thorin didn't even need to give an order, before the whole of the company was rushing forward. He glanced up at Gandalf. If Bilbo was correct, the way out was through this room, but he wanted to be sure. He was loath to spend more time than was needed, even if it meant an escape from the suffocating darkness.

But the old wizard only sighed in relief, shoulders slumping somewhat.

"There it is; come along, Thorin. The path out should be just through here."

When Thorin stepped into the Chamber of Mazarbul, he noticed a raised dias in it's center. It looked to be some sort of table, set under a shaft of natural light for the convenience of the writer or reader. Yet it was far to easy for him to imagine it re-purposed with dwarven craftsmanship into a tomb.

Ori, upon entering the room, was ecstatic. He rushed over th one of the many bookshelves, pulling tomes off of it both swiftly and with great care. He gently opened one of them, lovingly tracing the Khuzdul letters.

"This is a record of the smithing done several levels below us."

He selected another of the ancient journals.

"And this one tells of the Mithril excavations done here during the second age."

Balin walked over to the bookshelves, and it was only because he was so close that Thorin could see the tears collecting in his eyes.

"These… these are the records of our people. The tale of the dwarrows who lived here long ago, before Durin's bane came and drove them out."

No one spoke, and for the first time the air was not heavy with the weight of infinite darkness, but with the great honor it was to each and every one of them to be standing in this hallowed room. Thorin wondered what it had been like for those survivors wondered if maybe in with all of these books a journal detailing Khazad-Dûm's last days. He doubted it. Few dwarrows were as dedicated to the art of writing as Ori.

Gandalf walked up to the shelves as well, running his fingers over the ancient bindings.

"These are too fragile to move from here. I would suggest that we move on quickly."

Ori whipped round, a look of mild panic in his eyes.

"But we've only just got here!"

Dori threw his younger brother a sharp glance.

"Perhaps we could camp here for the night, then move on tomorrow. After all, I daresay none of us have rested properly for quite a bit, and we're not out of the woods yet."

Ori nodded vigorously, and Thorin thought he saw Balin breath a small sigh of relief.

"I agree with Ori and Dori. We shall camp here for tonight, then move out tomorrow morning. If all goes well, we should reach the Dimrill Dale by noon."

The company immediately set down their packs and supplies. Although he suspected that most would be loath to admit it, the sight of sunlight streaming from the outside seemed to chase away the melancholy of the darkness. Within moments, everyone was asleep.

Bilbo woke with a crick in his neck, groaning slightly as he pushed himself off the floor. Would it kill him to just _once_ have a decent sleep while on this blasted adventure?

Rolling to the side, not quite ready to get up yet, he saw that a familiar figure had decided to set down his bedroll next to him. When Thorin was asleep, it was always easier to ignore the lines of care worn into his face. Bilbo sighed, shaking his head, and as he got up he pulled the dwarven king's blanket a little higher on his shoulders. It wouldn't do for their esteemed leader to catch a cold, now would it.

Never mind that dwarves never seemed to get sick _ever_ , unnatural creatures. They were as strange as a unstolen spoon in Lobelia Sackville Baggin's home, and as endearing as a fauntling whose face was shining with pride after making his first flower crown.

Stretching high, working out some of the tension in his back, Bilbo noticed that he wasn't the only other person awake. Ori was sitting in what little early dawn glow was seeping into the room, reading a massive tome while writing rapidly in his journal.

"Couldn't sleep?"

The dwarf's face shot up, and he looked almost guilty for a moment. Then, when he saw it was Bilbo, a radiant smile broke open on his face.

"Sort of. I've been working on a transcript of some of the more important historical documents here; they're truly fascinating!I also tried to strengthen the binding on some of them, but well..."

He looked sorrowfully at collection of loose pages be his side.

"It didn't work very well."

Bilbo smiled, sitting down beside Ori.

"I see that they were the first ones you transcripted."

Ori nodded vigorously.

"Of course! I can't just damage a book and not try to preserve it somehow!"

Bilbo felt his heart twist a little, as Ori began to explain to him animatedly about how the dwarves in Khazad-Dûm had funneled a special type of air hidden within the rocks into their lamps, making lighting up entire chambers for hours on end possible without the use of ridiculous quantities of wax. It reminded him too much of the way that he had enjoyed talks like this with Ori in the past; the way he had always envisioned the Dwarf's energetic manner when reading his letters. It also reminded him of the terrible grief he had felt when he learned of Ori's demise, deep within the remains of another abandoned dwarven kingdom. It seemed even dwarves could press their luck a little too much.

"...So that's why you never, ever light a lamp when it smells like rotten eggs. Although I've heard rumors about there being many more different types of rock air. I think that I'd like to come back here and do some research into the subject when I'm older."

Bilbo only nodded, mouth pressed tightly closed. If he had any say in it, Ori would never set foot in Khazad-Dûm again.

The rest of the company rose slowly, taking their time packing up their bedrolls and double-checking their equipment. Finally, they began to move out.

As they gradually left the chamber of Mazarbul behind, instead of feeling dread at leaving that one patch of sunlight, Bilbo felt more at ease as they came closer and closer to the entrance. Everything had it's own time, and place. If one of the two didn't fit, then events could be avoided.

That would be useful in the future.

~Why in the name of Mahal had none of his fore-bearers put a railing on this bridge? Thorin felt as though he was going to fall off at any time, and go tumbling straight into the abyss. Thank Durin that Ereborian architecture was far more practical.

The bridge's suspension held remarkably well for it's old age, and Thorin felt a surge of relief when the company exited Khazad-Dûm and beheld The Dimrill Dale. Now all that they had to do was travel northwards a bit, to reach Beorn's home and replenish their supplies.

As they all descended into the valley below the gate, Thorin watched Gandalf. The wizard was looking westwards, an almost wistful look on his face. Then, he turned to the company.

"I would suggest we head northward from here. I know a place where we can rest for a bit, and possibly restock our provisions."

Thorin raised an eyebrow.

"A place where we are expected, and in absolutely no danger of possibly being mauled by our host?"

Gandalf shot him a glare.

"Do you honestly believe that I would lead your company into danger?"

Thorin shrugged.

"The last time you found us a place to stay, it was with elves. I'm just making sure that this time we will find some more… supportive assistance."

Gandalf's expression softened, but he still shook his head.

"The elves were perfectly accommodating, I'll have you remember. As it happens, I have not yet met our next host. However, a friend of mine, Radagast, happens to know him very well, and I am quite sure he will have heard of me before. There are few who have not."

Bilbo chuckled under his breath, but Thorin did his best to ignore it. They could both have a good laugh at Gandalf's god complex sometime when they were alone together.

"Very well, then, lead the way."

Bilbo always made sure to keep careful track of the days when the company was traveling. It made the journey seem shorter- and meant he had a clearer idea of when it was compared to past events.

He didn't know the exact dates of most of the things that happened in the quest, but he could easily make an educated guest by comparing the distance they had traveled. And, if his internal calendar was correct, they were fast approaching a date he knew he would never forget.

~As evening fell, Thorin gradually began to relax more and more. He was exceptionally glad that they had left the dark corridors of Moria behind, and even more so that they would soon reach the base of The Carrock. Despite the length of their trip through Khazad-Dûm, they were making good time. When the day had reached it's end and it was time to make camp, he was in a fairly good mood.

Bilbo walked up to him as the others began to make camp.

"Look."

Thorin followed Bilbo's fingertip to a tall stone spire only a little ways off in the distance.

"We'll be at Beorn's soon."

Thorin could still remember that day that he and Bilbo had stood upon the Carrock, of opening his eyes and his first memories being of the hobbit ramming into an orc, saving his life. He could still remember how right it had felt, holding Bilbo in his arms, pulling him close and shielding him from the rest of the world. As he looked upon his companion's fair, clean-shaven face, he felt a stirring of some emotion he could not quite name. But, in time, he suspected that maybe, just maybe…

"Yes. We should start planning for Mirkwood. I'd like to avoid almost being killed by spiders and then captured by elves."

Bilbo laughed, the sound light and airy.

"I rather think I agree with you, Thorin."

He tiled his head upwards to look into Thorin's face, evening light shining on his eyes.

Then, Thorin heard a low, deep growl sounding from an escarpment to their left.

"MOVE!"

The Warg came out of nowhere, nearly bulldozing the two over before Thorin slipped Orcrist from it's sheath and buried the blade deep into the beast's chest.

"It's a scout!"

Dwalin, who had been collecting firewood nearby, rushed over.

"Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

He cupped his hands over his mouth, shouting loud enough to wake the dead.

"EVERYBODY! WE NEED TO MOVE!"

For a few moments, everyone was simply dumbfounded. Then, the entire company was up and running quicker than Thorin could blink.

As they all raced forward, Thorin's mind was spinning frantically. _It was all happening again._ He wasn't even surprised when he glimpsed Ori back-handing Dwalin's war hammer into the skull of a warg. He had seen it all before.

 _Which meant that, pretty soon…_

As he looked up, he saw that the ground gave way not to far ahead of them. They were standing at the edge of a cliff face. How was this even possible? He was gald that they were at least a few mile down from where they had originally confronted Azog, otherwise he might have blacked out from sheer deja-vu.

Oh.

Azog.

 _He looks larger than the last time Thorin saw him. It might just be the added height his enormous Warg is giving him, but he does. When those pale eyes rest upon him, high up in his perch, he can feel the fires of an old hatred running through his veins._

Thorin didn't look back to see if Azog was there this time. He vaulted up the side of a tree, pulling Fili and then Kili up to join him. But he couldn't stop his knuckles from turning white where they clutched at the branches, or his ears from hearing the grating, slithering syllables as an all to familiar voice taunts him in the black speech.

 _It's all he can do to stay in the tree and not leap out to slit the bastard's throat._

Vaugely, he could hear the sounds of the others screaming and shouting, could see the bright sparks as flaming pine-cones pummeled their foes. Azog, though, was never hit. He sat astride his mount almost casually, a wicked smile playing on his mutilated face.

It made Thorin sick.

Then, the wargs begin to claw at the base of his tree, and it was all he could do to hang on for dear life.

' _Don't forget to jump'_ Some distant part of his mind that sounds suspiciously like a certain hobbit chides him. He pushed off the falling tree, miraculously landing in the branches of another. But it would only put off the inevitable.

 _All too soon, there is only a single tree left. Thorin only has time to think it's a miracle that it can support such weight, when the groaning of breaking roots reaches his ears. The world tips backwards, and it's all he can do to hang on for dear life._

This time, the tree falling doesn't take him by surprise.

He thrusts out and manages to grab a hold of Ori, holding him securely too the tree as it topples. One less problem couldn't hurt. Then, he lifts his eyes to Azog. This time, he isn't planning on charging him. All that they need to do is hang on for a few more moments, and the eagles will be here, they'll save the day like they always manage too.

He managed to cling to that glimmer of hope until his eyes fell upon the base of the tree. The roots still connecting it to the cliff side are failing fast, cracks already visible. From the look of near panic on Dwalin's face, he can tell that his friend has come to the same conclusion that he has.

They aren't going to make it.

The only way to get out of this would be to drastically reduce the weight of the tree, and there's no real way for them to do that without plunging to their deaths.

Unless…

He looks up, past the tree's base, to take in the sight before him. What remains of the trees they had been running through are now blazing bright, illuminating the sickly pale skin of a gargantuan orc. Azog.

His gaze shifts back down the tree trunk, and he makes eye contact with Bilbo. For a few moments, they simply stare at each other. Then, slowly, his burglar's head nodded once. Without preamble, Thorin scrambled up onto the now horizontal trunk of the tree, sprinting headlong towards the bristling weaponry of his foes.

Through the pounding of blood in his ears, he hears Bilbo yelling his name,racing only a few feet behind him. If the sound of Dwalin's roar and a branch snapping are anything to go by,the two of them aren't the only ones in the fray because of a lack of support.

This time, when Azog's mace came swinging towards him, Thorin's mind was clear enough to duck in time. There was no haze of fury to cloud his judgment, and it only took a swift thrust between Azog's warg's ribs to put the two of them on equal ground. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of steel ringing on steel and lesser orcs shreiking; no doubt Bilbo's handiwork, making sure he and Azog have some space to themselves. Good.

This time, he's going to finish Azog off right here, right now.

He dodges Azog's mace again, then narrowly skirts getting impaled by his claw. Not for the first time, he's thankful for his elven sword's longer reach, helping him to reach the soft spots between Azog's metal plating. But even when he does manage a cut, it's only superficial, and if anything it only make's the fiend's smile grow.

Suddenly, a side kick catches him off guard, and for a moment, he's seeing stars as he crashes to the ground. This time, it isn't a lowly orc minion leering over him as he clings to the edge of consciousness; it's the real deal. He only has time to think,

 _Well, at least this time he saved me a trip. Leaves are so much more comfy than ice…_

Then, the leer vanished from Azog's face. For a moment, Thorin's ears were ringing in the complete silence, and then he heard the sound of birds calling in what sounded like the distance, but the pale orc cursed vehemently in the black speech, then raced away. As giant talons scooped him up, Thorin finally let go of his awareness.

~It looked like everything had turned out alright after all.

Thorin gasped as his eyes flew open, Gandalf peering over him. It might just be his imagination, but the man looked very pensive. Their travels must be getting to him. Or it might just be the fact that he had to use magic to bring one of his friends back form the edge of death.

He sat up slowly, noticing the sighs of relief and slumping his shoulder of the rest of the company. Mahal, his head hurt. It didn't make any sense, he hadn't even been hit on the head _this_ time!

Bofur leaned over to Dwalin, murmuring;

"What's he goin on about?"

Thorin froze. Had he said that out loud? He must be more injured than he thought. Something was wrong. There was something different; he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was missing. He lifted his gaze to Gandalf's storm grey eyes.

"The hobbit?"

And he desperately, desperately hoped that he was mis-reading his old friend, because that couldn't be loss that caused his shoulders to tense, his face couldn't be crumpling from the force of grief, Bilbo was fine, he _had_ to be fine, Bilbo was always, always, fine.

"He was taken by one of Azog's underlings. If I were to guess, I would say that he is being taken to Goblin Town, far under the misty mountains.

Thorin was almost glad when darkness took him once again.


End file.
